the Twisted Tales of the Flying Cobras
by FlyingCobraChris
Summary: An exile. A godly man. A fugitive. A wildling. A treasure hunter. Somehow, these strange fellows will save the world.
1. the Exile

**The days of** High Lord Methrammar were done. Somewhere, in the place where souls wander, Alustriel was tearing her hair out at the monster that now sat on her throne.

_Well, you should've reared another brat, Alustriel_, thought Shakairra Romazi, looking out into the dark plains that swallowed the little city of Loudwater, on the other side of the Far Forest from the new High Lord's kingdom, a once great land called Luruar. Shakairra could be on the other side of the world from Luruar and still feel too close and slimy.

The guard sharing her watch tonight was rambling as they made their slow trek atop the walls of Loudwater, called that only because of the pounding waterfall half a mile away that had once been the glory of the city until goblins arrived. Devian Green, he was called. Everyone thought it appropriate to call him Little Lime on account of his name, his size, and his inexperience with anything sharper than a wooden sword.

"When the first snows come, you can't keep the children in the house without chains," Devian chattered. "They're always pelting each other with snowballs and building snow soldiers and forts. The clever ones make sleds of wagons and go sliding down the hill. We celebrate Midwinter by having sled races, one for children and one for the men, though the men are usually drunk. It makes for quite a show!"

Shakairra stole a look at the indigo sky. _Wow. Night's end cannot come fast enough._

She kept her eyes to the horizon, especially when they came upon the west wall, the nearest to the Far Forest. _It's not nearly far enough_, she thought. Why did her horse have to die on her when she'd barely gotten out of the country? Sure, it'd been old with only one eye and she'd ridden it as if the Nine Gates of Hell were at her heels, but it had still been a stroke of rotten luck. She'd hoped the horse wouldn't give out on her until she'd be able to buy a new one, but it'd been swept away during a river crossing, with almost all of her coins and food. After stumbling into Loudwater she soon realized that, short of beggary or thievery, she needed a job to get the coin required to continue her journey. That was why, two weeks later, she was walking a wall to protect a city she had every reason to hate.

"Why go sledding so close to goblin territory?" she asked.

"Why not?" Lime replied, taken aback. "During the day, under heavy guard, why not let the children have their fun?"

"Ask the twenty people that've gone missing in the past month. And there's little fun in a goblin raid."

"Goblins are cowardly creatures. They run at the first drop of blood. I guess you wouldn't know that."

She paused and glared at him. "Why wouldn't I know that?"

His brow crinkled. "You're from the city. Goblins don't attack cities. Silverymoon hasn't faced an orc threat in...fifty? Sixty years?"

"Seventy-four."

He stared after her as she continued the slow walk. "Seventy-four, right. I was about to say that."

"Of course you were."

Shakairra clamped down on her smile as Little Lime scrambled to catch up to her. Hateful glares and passive aggression she was used to; the uncommon fluster mixed with fear always made her laugh. Why not? Tieflings had little reason to laugh, especially these days in Luruar. Everyone liked to call the red-skinned, horned, tailed, and pointy-teethed humanoids "demons", despite the fact that they were humans. The only difference between Shakairra and Devian was that her ancestors had been nobles of the ancient and ruined empire of Bael Turath and had made blood pacts with devils for power and glory.

"It's a shame you won't be here for spring," Devian continued. "The wildflowers bloom all across the fields like a thousand rainbows springing from the earth."

"How poetic," Shakairra commented, flicking her tail-which was almost as long as she was tall-and kept her eyes to the darkness. It was hard to imagine any color in Loudwater, though maybe that was just being in the tail end of Uktar, the month commoners liked to call the Rotting. There was nothing but blackness outside the walls, nothing but grey within. Short, thick buildings leaned against each other, squatting over the shit and mud streets freckled with rocks. The people sleeping soundly in their straw mattresses were just as dull and hard.

Devian glowed. "Thank you!"

So passed another long, tiring evening. Shakairra would've given much and more for a glimpse of a goblin's shadow, if only to add a little excitement to this empty chapter in her life. She'd never seen a live goblin or orc before. Her days as an infantry soldier of Sundabar had sent her to counter the raids off the Nether Mountains. Humans and shades from Netheril, the neighboring kingdom with a sour relationship with almost every other nation in Faerun, liked to attack the little villages and towns that rested between the city of Sundabar and the shadowy mountains. While the camping was uncomfortable and the skirmishes brutal, Shakairra would've done it again in a heartbeat to get away from this, if she wouldn't be exiled, treated as a second-class citizen, or even killed by her own countrymen for no better reason than her horns and tail.

As the sun peaked over the horizon, Shakairra leaned her trident and shield against one of the guard towers and stretched her sore shoulders. No matter how much she wore mail and leather, it still felt like rocks were hanging from her back at the end of the day. The ache was a familiar comfort to her, though, an old friend in a strange place.

People were emerging from their homes to face the day as she descended the little wooden staircase within the wall. Most people ignored her. Many glared at her. A few whispered crude jokes behind their palms.

Shakairra marched to the barracks, her boots making a _squish squish_ noise in the fresh morning mud. Loudwater's barracks were divided into three rooms: dining room/kitchen, men's sleeping quarters, and women's sleeping quarters, which were considerably smaller than the men's.

The morning watch was diving into eggs and burned bacon when Shakairra made her way to the women's chambers. Personals were stuffed beneath the few cots that were elevated by wooden poles or they were shoved into the corner for those who slept on the floor. Shakairra's bed fell in with the latter as she set down her trident and unstrapped the shield from her arm. It was an old little thing, just big enough to cover her squat torso. Small spikes created a dangerous border around a dark red-almost black-center. There was no emblem, no other colors. Just spikes and that dark red. Shakairra had used to loathe wearing this instead of one of the glittering shields of Sundabar's military, shining with the crests of their gods or houses. Now she was eternally grateful for her father's pushiness.

Footsteps overcame the sound of Shakairra's mail jingling. She turned her head to see a human archer toss her bow onto her cot and start gathering her things.  
It was one of the Lumber twins. Shakairra had never been able to tell the two apart except for now. "Captain Wil found out about your lover, huh?"

Miri Lumber jerked her head up, startled, then smiled. "I told him. Alain and I are getting married." She brushed a strand of mud-colored hair behind her ear and resumed cramming her belongings into a bag.

"Congratulations." Loudwater allowed its guards to be in a relationship, but if the lover was also a guard one of them had to be suspended to avoid complications and embarrassment. There was no shame in love. There _was_ shame in fucking your boyfriend at work.

Shakairra changed into a soft cotton shirt and pants, stretched out on her cot, and closed her eyes, hoping to dream of better days.

A war horn pulled her into a sitting position an hour later and shoved her back into mail and leather. The deep wail bled through the walls, and as Shakairra grabbed her spear and shield she realized it wasn't one of the guard's horns, the ones made of iron or bronze. This was a hunter calling for help.

Shakairra burst out of the barracks with half the other guards, all in various stages of undress. They rushed to the north, to the gate, but the call was coming from the south. They probably wouldn't make it in time, not if it was hunters who needed help. Unarmored, with crude weapons and a small party...the guards would find corpses instead of friends.

Swearing, Shakairra jammed her spear into its holder on her back and sprinted south, to the market. One of the restaurants had tables outside so customers could enjoy the sun while it was still warm enough to counter the biting autumn winds. She leapt onto one of the tables, ignoring the girls' screams and men's curses, and jumped from that onto the low roof of the restaurant. It was a ten-foot distance, diagonally, but she had room to spare as she sprinted down the length of wooden roof and hopped from building to building. When she neared the two-story home of the mayor, she raced towards the dwelling, scaring the mayor's wife out of her wits as she charged the window, jumped, and clung onto the edge of the roof with her nails.

_We really need a southern gate,_ she thought, clawing her way to the top, pushing herself to her feet, and resuming her race. The wall was only a couple feet higher than the second-story building. In the background one of the guards demanded to know what the hell she was doing. Shakairra swung over the thick stone railing of the wall and fell.

Her bones rattled and it felt like spikes were ripping up the soles of her feet. Shakairra pulled out her trident and ran to the sound of the fading horn.


	2. the Traveling Captive

**The sways and** jerks of her bed lulled Rain from sleep. The air glowed gold and smelled of spices and metal and blood.

When her head stopped spinning she realized the blood was her own, trickling from a wound on her forehead. The metal was the iron on her wrists. The spices were in the sacks and barrels stacked around her. Icy wind crept into the covered wagon where she was bound, turning her skin to cold sandpaper.

Memories marched through her mind. Yes, she'd been camping somewhere in the north, on the Delimbiyr Road, when five men ambushed her.

_Why didn't they kill me_? Rain wondered, sitting up straight. _Common marauders would rob me and dump my body in the ditch. What use am I alive?_

Her chains were only a few inches long, keeping her hands to the floor. She studied her surroundings. Sacks of spices, meat, and barley. She was being smuggled among foodstuffs that would be...

_They want to sell me,_ she realized, curling her fingers around the chains. _They want to enslave me like an ant. _The wood creaked, snapped, and was torn from the wood with a harsh yank. A triumphant growl escaped her jagged teeth.

The wagon jerked to a stop. "What was that?" a harsh voice demanded.

Rain leaped onto the ground, clutching the chains to hold the rattling. She stifled a second, angry growl when she saw she had no armor or weapons but that which she was born with and a scratchy smock.

"The prisoner, idiot."

She crouched and darted under the wagon.

"Where 'r the others?"

"Day ahead. Come on."

Two pairs of boots dropped onto the ground and hurried on either side of the wagon. Rain tackled the one to the left, shredding his rusted chainmail with her claws, digging beneath his skin and tearing off skin and muscle like layers of cake. She broke off his screams with a twist of his neck.

By then his friend had run around the wagon and was charging with a war hammer. Rain somersaulted over the body and stood, frowning. "That's my hammer."

He glared at her with beady eyes. "That was my friend!"

She snarled. "Sorry."

He charged, giving a clumsy swing of her hammer. She ducked beneath it and slashed at his neck with her nails.

Blood dribbled from his throat and mouth. The hammer fell from his limp fingers with a clunk. "...monster..." He followed the hammer.

Rain found a barrel of water in the wagon and washed her hands before soothing the horses, who'd grown skittish at the smell of blood. Then she went to work stripping the bodies for goods and tossing them into the ditch for nature to reclaim. Finally she went through the wagon and found the thick hides and leathers that served as her armor and clothing. The clothing was of the style of the wild elves who'd taken her in when she was but a pup, but she'd done her best to accessorize in the way of her people, the longtooth shifter clan that'd been consumed by a wildfire. So instead of flowers and leaves sewed onto her clothes she jiggled and crackled with bits of bone. Most were tokens of the prey she'd hunted and fed to her elf tribe over the years, but there was a necklace about her neck made of the claws and teeth of the bear she'd killed at thirteen years, a bobcat decorated her wrists and ankles (she was barefoot) from her fourteenth year, and flowing from her shoulders was the silky pelt of an ebony panther from her sixteenth year.

Shifters were supposedly descended from lycanthrope. Razorclaw were feline, longtooth canine. As such Rain's eyes were the color of molten gold, her canine teeth were more pronounced, and her nails were black claws that served more like ten little daggers. Her long brown hair was wild and free, and a life of hunting and wilderness had left its scars across her muscled, tan body.

After going through the wagon Rain gave serious thought to taking it with her. She could eat the food and sell whatever she didn't need. But instead, she released the horses' binds to the wagon and kept one harness. She packed as much as she could onto the horse she intended to use as a laborer, swung onto the other barebacked, and galloped away from the carnage.


	3. God's Man

_**This is a**__ good way to die_, thought Gundar as he created another crystalline magic sphere with a prayer and hurled it at the new wave of goblins with his hammer-shaped rod. It hit the leading goblin, exploding into hundreds of tiny, radiant blades that sliced through him and three other goblins, killing them with little knives that dug through the eyes and chest to the brain and heart. There were still almost a dozen more surrounding him and the hunters that'd found him on the trail.

One of those hunters was dead now, a hole through his chest by the goblin shaman's dark magic. The shaman was dead, too, for all the good it did them. Goblins normally scrambled after their leader fell, but even these simple creatures could count. Gundar and the two surviving hunters were doomed.

Gundar threw another orb, but the target ducked with a squeal. Ugly things, goblins. The curve of the legs, mottled color of the skin, and the smell reminded Gundar of moldy chicken. They were small, only about waist-height on a human. He was taller than a human, though, and the biggest goblin came up to his thigh.

He had no reason to fear death. Devas were simply reincarnated into a new adult body that appeared in some sacred place with enough memory from previous existences to communicate in multiple languages and, more importantly, offer the proper prayers and sacrifices to the gods of good. The elves who were with him, however, had grim terror plainly written upon their faces. One of the elves, the brother of the slain, had a look mixed with anger that told Gundar he was accepting of his fate, so long as he took as many goblins as possible with him into death.

_Spare them, Moradin_, Gundar pleaded in a prayer as one elf shot his bow, the other swung his swords, and he threw another orb. _I know you do not favor elves, but these are good men and do not deserve an early grave._

Gundar was uncertain what miracle he expected alone in this little clump of trees a quarter mile from the nearest town. Perhaps he would suddenly remember a prayer or spell that would be powerful enough to destroy the goblins or teleport them to safety. Or maybe reinforcements from that town? Better yet, the goblins would suddenly lose heart and flee.

His miracle came in the form of a raging tiefling.

She charged through the underbrush and impaled a goblin with her trident like a kabob, then slammed her spiked shield into another before the goblins realized they had another foe to fight. Four of them surrounded her, and a fifth shot a black arrow from his tiny bow. The tip grazed her cheek, drawing a trail of blood behind it. The goblins hooted and cheered until the tiefling's pupil-less, golden orbs narrowed. Flames danced behind her eyes as the archer burst into flames. Shrieking, the goblin ran around and around its startled comrades until he finally dropped to the ground and screamed no more.

_This one has more infernal fire in her veins than the average tiefling, _Gundar realized, and didn't know whether that was good for them or if he would be saved from one battle just to fight in another.

The tiefling had made good use of the distraction. She impaled another goblin and slashed at a second, slicing through his raggedy animal hides that served as poor armor and spraying his blood and entrails across the mud. The elf archer next to the Gundar made quick work of the fourth goblin.

When Gundar threw another orb that shattered and hit two more goblins, the enemies found themselves at ten to four and were growing uneasy as the swordsman and tiefling took up a defensive position between them and Gundar and the archer.

"How many more are coming?" the archer asked in Elven.

"A score or more are on their way," the tiefling replied, in Common, with a vicious smile.

The goblins turned and ran away squealing.

A great relief fell on them as the archer bent over with a red face and began giggling madly. The swordsman sheathed his weapons,lip trembling and tears beginning to well as he looked as his fallen brother, but he still managed a compliment: "Not bad, Romazi."

The tiefling frowned, shoving her spear into the holster at her back. She spoke Elven: "Who's your friend?"

"I am Gundar," he said, tucking his hammer into his sash. "Follower of Moradin."

"Yes...I see that."

Gundar let her soak in his image. While looking similar to humans, Gundar was a head taller than most of them, towering over the little tiefling. Coloring was what most separated him from the humans. His skin was a pastel blue, two bold indigo lines streaking down his face, chest, and arms. His eyes had no pupils or irises; they were simply two white orbs blinking at her. All his hair was hidden beneath the crown-like helmet that had a little dent in it from a goblin arrow. Instead of the flowing fine silks his kin wore, Gundar wore clothing much more suitable for travel: a dark brown cotton robe to protect against the elements. A cloth-of-silver sash wrapped around his waist, holding his elaborate ivory rod shaped somewhat like a hammer for the creator god Moradin.

The tiefling, in contrast, was a short, stout thing with a lashing tail and jagged teeth. The muscles and skill with her spear hinted at many years of military service, though Gundar could not guess for the life of him where she was from. Her Common accent told of the cities of the north, yet she spoke Elven so fluently he could swear she was from the wilds of Elfharrow or the Moonshae Isles.

"I'm Shakairra Romazi," she introduced over the archer's dying giggles. "You've met Peren and Carric. The dead one's Gennal." She wiped the blood from her cheek and frowned at it. "Damn archers."

"You're welcome," Carric replied with an annoyed smile as his hysteria died. He put his bow away. "Gundar, we have to take you to the captain for protocol's sake, but you will be welcome in Loudwater."

As if on cue, the rest of the backup swelled around them. Humans, elves, and half-elves, all wearing boiled leather, some with mail. The human who wore platinum armor stepped forward. He was almost as tall as Gundar, with a broad build and a mop of red hair that sprang from his skull when he removed his helm.

"Captain Wil," Shakairra greeted. "This is Gundar. He saved Peren and Carric from the goblins' ambush."

"And we were rescued by Miss Romazi," Gundar added, noting the air of quiet hostility towards the tiefling. "I came here for supplies and rest on a long journey. May I beg hospitality?"

Wil smiled. "As far as I'm concerned, Gundar, you'll never have to beg anything from Loudwater."


	4. the Treasure Hunter

He saw the walls a good two miles off and considered. The sack of coins on his belt was light, but if it was legal he could pick a fight in a bar. A good victory would easily get him room and food for the night.

The guards stopped him at the gate and stared at him. "What is your name?"

"Quarrel-Karn," he called, shielding his eyes against the setting sun. "Of the Burning Cloak."

The guards' looks turned even more incredulous. While he had no cloak, Quarrel-Karn was burning. Genasi, humanoid embodiments of elemental chaos, often drew such looks from isolated humans, especially fire genasi.

Movement on the corner of his eye drew Quarrel-Karn's attention. A woman was jogging atop the wall. At first, he thought it was just a trick of the darkening light. But no, upon further examination he saw that her skin was indeed red, and she had horns and a tail, too.

"Tiefling!" he called. "Could you convince your friends to open the gate?"

The tiefling paused and leaned over the stone rail to get a good look at him. "What's a genasi doing so far from home?" she asked.

"I could ask the same of you."

"I'm jogging."

"I'm tired and hungry."

"Don't forget stinky."

He grinned. "I'll cause less offense to your nose if you open the gates and let me bathe."

She returned the grin, disappeared for a moment, then jumped over the ledge, landing hard on her feet and palms.

Quarrel-Karn blinked. "No stairs?"

"Not on this side." She stood and wiped her palms against her cotton clothes. "I'm Shakairra."

"Quarrel-Karn."

"Captain's coming. When we get someone as...strange...as you we get his opinion."

"So you're practiced in the exotic?"

"Considering a deva saved our asses from a goblin raid this morning, yes."

Quarrel-Karn blinked again. "A deva?"

"An invoker of Moradin. Good one, too."

"I see. Is that...?" He motioned to his cheek.

Shakairra reached up and brushed against the raw slash across her face with an annoyed frown. "Damn archers."

Quarrel-Karn gave his best grin. _Where has this wench been all my life?_

"You never did answer my question. What are you doing here?"

"Treasure hunting," Quarrel-Karn answered as the gate opened and out stepped a man in platinum armor flanked by two guards in boiled leather and mail.

The human frowned at Shakairra. "What are you doing here, Romazi?"

"Investigating," she replied. "Girls get curious of strangers."

"You know the saying of curiosity."

"I'm not a cat. Sir."

Quarrel-Karn could not stop grinning. "Shakairra was not at fault, sir. I started it."

"I see." The captain looked him up and down. Quarrel-Karn could only imagine the sight he produced. Even for a genasi he looked strange. His obsidian-colored skin was cracked with energy lines glowing the color of fire, sometimes yellow, sometimes orange, sometimes red, and instead of hair he had a head of fire flickering in the cold wind. He was at even height with the captain, and his eyes glowed like orange embers. He was bundled in thick wool over his light travel clothes against the biting winds of the season of Uktar, and though he wore no armor he carried a large fullblade across his back, almost as tall as the short tiefling with a blade as wide as a human's head.

"What treasure do you seek?" the captain asked bluntly.

Quarrel-Karn's eyes glittered. "The Artifact of Manifestation. Heard of it?"

The captain shook his head while Shakairra perked up. "An ancient genasi artifact. It's supposed to grant another manifestation. Earth, fire, storm, water, wind, any of them."

He smiled at her. "You know your history."

"I know my myths."

The smile slipped. "It's not a myth."

She rolled her eyes. "Please. Eight different legends on who created it, the stories have it in three different places at once, it's a myth, Sparky."

"It is not! I've tracked it to the Shallow Sea."

The captain scowled while Shakairra hissed. "That's in Netheril."

_Oops_. "And I mean to take it out of Netheril before some dark wizard discovers it."

The captain was undecided. As he opened his mouth, Shakairra cut him off. "Sir, his accent puts him in Akanul. You know their relationship with Netheril."

"Not good", Quarrel-Karn almost said, but he held his tongue. The captain knew basic politics; he'd be able to recognize any genasi as an enemy to the shadow creatures of the great desert.

The captain turned and said something under his breath to the tiefling, who copied him. Quarrel-Karn did not have the sharp ears of an elf to hear them, but could well guess at the conversation and conclusion as they turned back half a minute later.

"I will grant you entry to the city," the captain declared, "but only for the night. By highsun tomorrow you must be gone."

"As you say," Quarrel-Karn consented.

"And you will have Shakairra Romazi with you at all times."

He blinked and looked at the tiefling, who shrugged.

_Well, at least she's fair_, Quarrel-Karn thought. She was nowhere near beautiful, and could almost be called common. But she bled such confidence and was so unique her flaws were almost invisible.

Quarrel-Karn grinned. "By noon tomorrow, sir, you'll never know I was here."


	5. the Soldier

_Is the circus in town?_ she wondered, sitting at the table with the genasi, the deva, and now a shifter.

Rain had come into the city asking after other shifter tribes. Why the guards thought to bring her to Shakairra, she had no idea. Not that she didn't know about longtooth tribes, but she was starting to think she was being placed on freak control.

"Your ears are really fuzzy," Quarrel-Karn commented.

Rain smiled between chomps of mutton. "Keeps them warm in the winter."

_They are really fuzzy_, Shakairra thought. _They look like wolf ears._ "You'd do well to avoid the north," she warned, answering Rain's original question. "Luruar no longer takes too kindly to strangers. And Netheril is never a good option. My advice, turn around and head south. If you didn't find anything in Elfharrow, I'd suggest the Dalelands or the Vilhon Wilds. Failing that, the Great Dale is full of unexplored forestland, and maybe Myth Drannor."

"Many shifters have taken to an urban life," Gundar commented. "There are entire communities..."

Rain was already shaking her head. "Cities are not an option. Even this place makes my skin crawl. Shifters belong in the wild, where we can better hear the spirits of the land."

Quarrel-Karn picked at his roasted chicken with a fork. "I thought longtooths liked being with people."

"Too many people in one place drains and corrupts the land. Cities collapse and fall to ruin not because of invasions but because of themselves."

Shakairra paused, startled by the wildling's wisdom. "You know your history."

"I lived with elves." She spoke as if Shakairra should've already known that. "The village elder lived through three centuries before death."

"May the next one live many more," Gundar said.

Rain smiled.

_He's so still_, Shakairra thought. Gundar hadn't moved a muscle except to speak and occasionally take a bite of his salad.

The outdoor tavern they were eating at was on the edge of the town, under the shadow of the wall. It was midmorning, nearing highsun. Soon Quarrel-Karn would have to leave or risk being poked out of town with spears and swords. Shakairra had half a mind to go with him. Treasure hunting, even if it was for a myth, would be far more interesting than rotting here until spring.

At least it was a nice day, one of the few before the month of Nightal. No one wore their sweaters or coats. Shakairra had her mail and boiled leather, but that was only because she was technically on duty. Gundar must've been roasting in that heavy brown cloak of his, though he'd removed his helmet for the early lunch. It glittered in the sun, polished like a sapphire. His hair was the same color as his indigo markings, cut short and combed and oiled. Quarrel-Karn, on the other hand, wore nothing above his pants except an open vest, dyed a light blue to contrast his black skin and burning energy lines, while Rain rattled her bones with every movement.

_What a sight we must be_, Shakairra mused. "It's getting late, Sparky. Hope you're packed."

"Yes." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'd like to get a horse before we go."

She stood. "Come on, then."

Rain's hand darted out and grabbed her arm. "Wait!"

Shakairra stiffened, wondering if she'd be able to reach up to the trident on her back before the shifter broke her neck.

Gundar stood slowly, milky eyes to the wall. "Do you hear that?"

Rain's grip loosened as Shakairra turned to the wall and the growing shouts coming from the top of it. Guards were sprinting, pulling out bows and crossbows and ordering the civilians to get back, get away!

"What in the Nine Hells?" Shakairra whispered as Quarrel-Karn's hand inched to the fullblade at his back.

Five guards came running on the ground to the wall, swords drawn, shields up. One of them turned to Shakairra. "Romazi, there's-"

_BOOM!_

The force of the explosion blew three of those guards back, slamming them into buildings so hard they remained motionless. The other two managed to keep their feet. The two houses that had the misfortune of being built against the wall were torn to pieces. Half the archers and crossbowmen atop the wall became living fireworks that flew up and up and up before they slammed to the ground like bags of chunky tomato soup. By the time the dust cleared, sunlight and goblins were streaming in through the gaping hole in Loudwater's stone wall.

_Firepowder_, she realized. _How the fuck did they get their hands on firepowder?_

The goblins were as ugly as Shakairra remembered them: moldy chickens dressed in rotting leathers wielding crude weapons. There were rusted swords and axes here and there, but the majority of them were bone daggers or wooden spears with stone heads. The villagers who hadn't gotten away in time and were struggling to their feet were immediately cut down by the first goblins through the wall. People screamed as they scrambled to get away, but one side of the street was blocked by a couple rearing horses dragging blocky carriages and wagons, the other had a low wall of rubble that made escape difficult.

Like lightning Quarrel-Karn's sword was out and he was charging the nearest goblin, who was clustered around four others. He cried, "Akanuuuuul!" The blade rippled, the air hissed, and the goblin's head lolled. Green flames sprouted from the sword and shot its fingers at the other four, who barely had time to scream before they were consumed with fire and death.

_A swordmage_, Shakairra realized, slapping her shield on her arm and pulling out her trident before she and Rain dove in after Quarrel-Karn. The shifter wielded a great two-handed war hammer that must've weighed as much as herself, though she held it with one hand, a large, wood-and-hide shield on her left arm. One head of her weapon was a hammer, the other head was an axe. She bashed one goblin's chest with the hammer before switching the heads, spinning the great weapon over her head, and slicing the head off another moldy chicken with the axe head.

Shakairra blocked a spear jab with her shield, then buried the prongs of her trident into the attacker's bulging belly. She jumped onto a fallen fruit cart in the middle of the fray and turned to the two surviving guards behind her, who hadn't moved since the wall blew. "Don't just stand there, you cowards! Bloody your fucking swords!"

The insult snapped them into action. Rallying cries of, "Loudwater!" they charged into the fray against the score or more of goblins as the civilians screamed and sobbed and fled to safety. A few of the hardier folk, mostly fathers and older brothers, got their hands on shovels, picks, and boards that had once been houses and followed the guards, hacking and pounding. They were undisciplined, but made a lovely, frightening, bloody mess of their targets, beating the goblins back so their families could flee.

Three goblins surrounded Rain. One of them managed to draw blood with a shallow slash across her belly before she slammed the cobblestone ground with her hammer. The earth churned like butter and the rocks flew, battering the goblins to bloody pulps. Rain gave a hair-tingling, triumphant howl like some mad beast before charging her next target, closer to Quarrel-Karn and Shakairra. A crystalline orb flew over Shakairra's head and shattered against another cluster of goblins, tearing them to bits. Gundar had donned his helmet and was making his way to the fray, keeping behind the guards and frenzied civilians.

Shakairra dared to think they may actually get out of this with no more injuries or deaths. Then the shaman appeared.

The rags were rotted, like the rest, but he wore more of them and they spoke of once being of some value. Glaring from his forehead was a headdress made of an elven skull with ropes of small bones dangling down, clattering with each movement of his head. In his hands was a sickly-looking, twisted branch that glowed dark green. He pointed it at Shakairra and shrieked a curse.

A bolt of acid shot out of the twisted rod. She had just enough time to intercept the attack with her shield before it hit, blowing her off of the cart and onto the ground. Somehow, she kept her feet. While the shield took most of the damage, some managed to spray onto her face and arms. It burned like little fires on her skin. She hissed. The shaman whooped and sneered, "Painful, isn't it, she-devil?"

"You like pain?" she demanded, and felt the hellfire burning in her soul, so close to the skin she felt ready to explode until she aimed it at the shaman through a thin like of hatred and dark, inherent magic.

The shaman's cheers turned to screams as his robes and skin caught fire. Through the screams Shakairra thought she heard him speak, but could not understand the guttural language of goblins.

The goblins that weren't engaged in Rain and Quarrel-Karn were looping around to attack the weaker link: the civilians. Shakairra saw the brave farmers and merchants drop one by one and turned to the swordmage as she jumped to her feet. "Sparky! With me!"

He cut a goblin in half, turned to her, and pointed to the biggest, fattest goblin on the field armed with a bone spear. The goblin never noticed the glowing orange runes that appeared on his chest as he stabbed at an agile elf, who couldn't have been older than fifteen. She was nimble enough to dodge the blows, but tiring quickly, the hunting knife in her hands growing heavier and sweatier. As the goblin made for another slash, Quarrel-Karn disappeared from beside Shakairra in a fiery flare and reappeared behind him. The swordmage chopped the goblin's arm off at the elbow, then kicked him to Rain, who off-handedly bashed his head in with her hammer before concentrating on a new cluster, which was significantly reduced when Gundar threw another crystal orb.

A shower of arrows took care of the last of the goblins as the archers on the wall found clear shots. The few who survived the purge turned tail and sprinted away from the guards and the strange companions, out the wall and to the fields, where the archers picked them off like rabbits.

Reinforcements hurried in, only to find themselves in charge of cleanup instead of rescue. A few elves soothed the panicky horses with the carts while others secured the perimeter and began digging for bodies and survivors. Shakairra wiped the sweat from her brow with her palm before tucking her spear and trident away and giving Quarrel-Karn a friendly punch on the arm. "Nice work, Sparky."

"Nice work yourself." He sheathed his sword and cracked his neck.

The town cleric, an elf by the name of Adrie Moonshade, hurried onto the scene in her little pink robe with the star of Corellon embroidered on her back. The small elf made her way to the harsher wounds while Shakairra found a bald man with a broken arm. Tearing bits of cloth from a dead man's clothing, she wrapped his arm to his chest and helped him to his feet. "Go to the hospital."

"The blue man can heal with a prayer," the man complained, pointing to Gundar, who was kneeling next to a woman with a bloody torso. The invoker mumbled a few words, and the woman's wounds glowed with radiant light and began to seal.

_Huh. That's handy. _"She had an axe in her gut," Shakairra replied as evenly as she could. "You have a broken bone. They'll have a potion for you at the hospital. Let Gundar tend the more seriously injured."

The sullen man turned and walked to the hospital.

Shakairra looked around the carnage for the next victim before a mailed hand rested on her shoulder like an iron hawk. "Romazi."

"Captain Wil."

Gundar looked up as the woman struggled to a sitting position, dazed. "What is the Horn of Meshecca, captain?"

He stiffened. "That is no concern of yours, Gundar."

Shakairra frowned. "Gundar, do you speak Goblin?"

"I do."

"What was the shaman saying when he was on fire?"

"'Get the Horn of Meshecca. Get the horn, the horn.'"

Captain Wil glared at Gundar and dragged Shakairra away from the carnage to the shadow of the intact buildings across the street. Shakairra wrestled away from his grasp. "What is going on?"

"How well do you know your history, Romazi?" he demanded.

"Well enough."

"What do you know about Meshecca?"

"He was an orc king," Shakairra explained. "From before the time of Luruar and many other nations. Some say he was an orc, others say he was a giant. He died centuries ago, sealed in a tomb deep beneath some ancient waterfall, and there was no horn."

"Not true. He carried a war horn, and it's here."


	6. the Helper

_Why did I learn to make firepowder and acid potions instead of healing tonics? _Quarrel-Karn wondered, edging his way out of the scene. _If I find the stables I can still be out of here by highsun._

"...mean the horn is _here_?"

As he got farther from the wounded, from the cleric, Gundar, and Rain, and farther from the ruins of the wall, Shakairra and the captain's voices grew louder, though the captain seemed desperate enough to keep the volume down.

"I mean it's a historical artifact," Wil hissed. "The waterfall where Meshecca was killed and buried was Southwood Falls, just half a mile from here. When Loudwater was founded, a wizard took the horn here."

"What do the goblins want with it?"

"I don't know."

"They think it's magical," Quarrel-Karn heard himself say. _Idiot! Don't engage!_

Shakairra peaked around the corner of the building and scowled. With the fresh acid craters on her face it made her look like a blood-drenched orc. "How long have you been hovering?"

"Long enough." He stepped into the shadows so he could see Shakairra and Wil more clearly. "Goblins are stupid. They're fully capable of believing that a horn holds magic power."

Shakairra's scowl lessened as she looked at Wil in confusion. "Anyway, why are you telling me this?"

Wil looked between her and Quarrel-Karn, who sent a quick prayer to his god Corellon. The captain sighed, apparently deciding the swordmage could be trusted. "I need as many guards as I can to remain here, but I need someone to lead a troop to the falls and root out the goblin nest so they don't attack again."

"So get Sir Jonn."

"Sir Jonn died in the blast."

"What's your backup plan?"

"You."

She burst into laughter, short and harsh. "Seriously. What's your backup plan?"

_This woman does _not_ think highly of herself_, Quarrel-Karn thought, watching the exchange and growing more and more fascinated.

"Romazi, of all the soldiers and guards I have, you're the one with the most experience leading men into battle."

Quarrel-Karn blinked. "When did you do that, Shakairra?"

"Just now," Wil snapped.

Shakairra's mouth formed a thin, mean line. "I led attacks against the Netherese in the mountains. Small parties, never more than a score."

"Well, then goblins should be easy, compared to humans and shades." Quarrel-Karn grinned. "I'd like to help."

"That won't be necessary, because I'm not doing it. It was hard enough keeping men in line in Luruar. _Loudwater_ guards? Captain, are you mad?"

"It won't be permanent," Wil promised. "I know how uncomfortable things are with you here, and I know how much you hate it. Do this, and I will give you enough gold and silver to carry you halfway around Faerun." He looked past her at Quarrel-Karn. "You, too."

"Excellent." He smiled at Shakairra, who was not sharing his amusement. "Come on, one quick little adventure and we're set for months."

Shakairra twisted her head at the mess behind them. "One condition: I choose my own men."

Wil nodded. "Agreed."

She turned back to Quarrel-Karn. "You're a swordmage."

"That's right."

"Trained in military magic."

"Magic and swordplay are what make me a swordmage."

"If you had the horn, could you identify it as magical?"

"If it was actually magical, yes. Not that it would be."

"Check for me, all right? If it can bring a centuries-dead orc king back to life I want it as far away as possible. Captain, do you have any maps of the falls? Caves in the area?"

"I can look," Wil offered.

"Please do. And do you have any idea how those goblins could've gotten firepowder?"

He shook his head.

"Sparky?"

Quarrel-Karn shrugged. "If they found gold mines in the forest they could've paid for it."

Wil shook his head again. "Southwood's caves were mined out years ago. There's nothing valuable in them."

"They must've found something of value..." Shakairra sighed. "Never mind. I'm going to talk with our new friends."

"Who?" Quarrel-Karn asked, watching her leave.

She gave him a look. "The wild woman and blue man who just helped us crush a bunch of goblins."


	7. the Healer

The cleric Adrie huffed as the last seriously injured person was taken care of. "Thank you, Gundar, again. For saving us."

Gundar stood, brushing the dirt and loose blood from his hands. "It was not only me, Miss Moonshade. It was me, the other strangers, the brave citizens who took up arms for the ones they loved, and the soldiers, every one."

Adrie gave a humbled smile. "Right."

As the cleric gathered her things, Gundar clasped his hands together and prayed. _Thank you, Moradin, for giving me the power and the strength to fight the goblins and protect the good people of this world. And thank you for bringing these heroes to Loudwater in time for the attack, especially Shakairra Romazi, Rain the She-Wolf, and Quarrel-Karn of the Burning Cloak._

When he was done, he opened his eyes to find a pair of golden orbs staring up at him.

"If your done with your prayers, I need to talk to you," Shakairra said, with a tone of humility and respect Gundar had never heard from her. He wasn't sure he liked it.

"First of all, I'd like to thank you for helping us," she began when they returned to their table at the tavern. She brushed some of the dirt and rubble that'd found its way to the table and sat. "Really, a lot of people would've died if you hadn't been there."

"Many would have died if you had been absent as well," Gundar replied, sitting across from her and removing his stifling helmet. "You are quite a leader."

She looked away. "No, I just have the most experience."

"At twenty years old? Come now, Shakairra."

She gave him an annoyed look. "In any case, I have to ask even more from you."

Gundar rested his hand on his helmet. "You want me to expunge the goblins from their lair."

"Essentially." Shakairra drummed her fingernails. "No, not essentially. That's the whole of it."

"Who else, if anyone, will come?"

"Captain Wil asked me to lead a team to the lair, and Quarrel-Karn has volunteered. When I'm done talking with you I'm going to ask Rain the She-Wolf."

"Anyone else?"

"I don't trust the other soldiers."

"Because they do not trust you."

"Do you?"

"I do not know you."

"And yet you risked your life twice for people you don't know."

"When members of the goodly folk require protection it is my duty to do everything I can to keep them from harm."

"I see." She tapped the table with her nails. "And what about tieflings? Am I a member of the 'goodly folk'?"

Gundar paused. He had to give this some thought before answering carefully. "As tieflings are descended from humans, I put them in the same category."

"And humans are...?"

"A goodly race."

"But drow are descended from elves, and yet everyone agrees they're evil. So let me ask you again, Gundar, are tieflings a goodly race?"

Gundar studied her, especially the eyes. They were unblinking, and her mouth was very slightly tilted upwards into a smile. "It does not matter. Not to you, anyway. The individual decides whether their race is good or evil, and if every tiefling followed your example, Shakairra Romazi, tieflings would easily be categorized as a goodly race."

She gave a twisted smile. "If you ever get the chance to really know me, Gundar, you wouldn't be so quick to call me good."

He wasn't sure how to take that.

"But, in any case, I digress. Will you or will you not come with me and Quarrel-Karn and possibly Rain to get rid of these goblins?"

Gundar reached out with a blue hand and brushed Shakairra's cheek. She jerked a little at the touch, but otherwise remained still. Her skin was hot beneath his touch, and Gundar got an uneasy feeling that was not his own, an echoing memory from a life decades ago.

_It does not matter whether a tiefling leads me, or an eladrin, or another deva_, he thought as he said a prayer to heal the acidic craters on her stern face. _This is the instrument Moradin has sent me to cleanse myself of my past life's sins._

When he pulled back, the acid and wounds were gone, leaving Shakairra unblemished.

"You lack a healer," Gundar observed. "I would be honored to fill that roll." _And maybe help you find the good in yourself. And the good in myself._


	8. the Organizer

Shakairra met Quarrel-Karn and Captain Wil in the barracks at highsun with Gundar and Rain in tow. Convincing the shifter to come aboard this merry quest had been easier than Shakairra had dared to hope and went something like this:

"Rain, I wanted to-"

"You're going after the goblins, aren't you?"

"Um, yes."

"I'd like to come with. For a small reward."

"All right."

"The heroes of Loudwater." Wil smiled. "Romazi, you have quite the company."

_Quite the strange and uncomfortable company, you mean. _"Thank you, captain." She turned to Quarrel-Karn. "The horn. Anything?"

He shook his head. "It's just an old horn. It almost fell apart in my hands."

"Good to know we're dealing with a bunch of idiots." _Who caused a lot of death and destruction for nothing._

"I could find no maps concerning any useful regional features of the area," Captain Wil confessed. "However, there used to be a great city around those falls with tunnels and sewers underneath. I can only imagine that is what the goblins are using as a lair. And no, Romazi, not even the town scholars know how the goblins got firepowder."

"Any idea how many goblin warriors we will find?"

"We can only guess. A score, maybe more?"

"This land can hardly support this city of humans and elves, never mind a neighboring goblin village," Rain intercepted. "Before the attack today I would say there were no more than sixty goblins, including warriors, shamans, children, and non-combatants."

Wil smiled. "And we killed twenty-two of them. If Rain is correct, you won't have to deal with many warriors."

"Even a weakling goblin child can pose a threat," Quarrel-Karn warned. "And if we're not careful we'll get lost in those tunnels."

"Just bring rope and torches," Shakairra suggested. "Captain, I'd like to borrow a few horses."

"I have two in the stables," Rain offered.

"Then I need two horses."

"Take what you need," Wil consented. "But before you go, let's talk payment."

Quarrel-Karn leaned in. Rain looked impatient. Gundar made no move. Shakairra herself was anxious to get this over with, yet her stomach tingled at the thought of gold and reward and possibly a bit of glory.

"Whatever you find in the lair divided evenly between the four of you, as well as fifty gold coins each."

"One hundred," Shakairra pushed. "Luruar has a growing influence; I need to travel far."

"Let's skip the haggling then and go straight to the middle: seventy-five."

"No need to rob the man," Quarrel-Karn protested.

Shakairra ignored him. "Done. Seventy-five gold coins each, plus whatever we find in the lair."

Wil shook her hand. "I will wait until dawn before sending riders after you. May the gods preserve you."

"Mine always does," Gundar said as way of parting.

A short time later the four were riding at a brisk pace to the Southwood Falls. Though they were embarking on a dangerous quest, Shakairra found herself growing more and more at ease the farther she got from Luruar.

"I hear Luruar has a new High Lord," Quarrel-Karn commented, as if reading Shakairra's thoughts.

"It does," she huffed, clinging to her horse. They'd been riding silently for several minutes. "High Lord Erevan, the son of a bitch."

"You have a low opinion of him," Gundar commented.

Quarrel-Karn snorted. "Way to state the obvious."

"He got to his position through wealth, cheating, and lying," Shakairra ranted. "He said he'd restore Luruar to its 'former glory', as if it ever lost it. No one knew he meant to turn anyone who wasn't of Fey origin into second-class citizens."

"Well, no offense, Shakairra, but tieflings have always been treated as second-class citizens."

"Not like this. I could deal with all the shit from before. Back then I commanded an inkling of respect." The memory of it, of the good times that hadn't really been good but were now out of her reach, made her blood boil with hellfire. "I was allowed to become a soldier of Sundabar and defend the three cities. I traveled to Silverymoon and learned as much as a sage. I was even given control of small military teams to fight in the mountains. In another few years I could've made my way to knighthood. I wouldn't have been the first tiefling, especially in a place like Luruar. In a decade or two I could've been general, maybe even Head General." Her hands began to smoke. "But fucking Erevan put me out of the fucking job."

Rain's voice was ripe with panic: "Shakairra!"

A tree stump ahead exploded with a burst of hellfire. The horses reared, Shakairra's especially, and she had to clutch the reigns and squeeze with her legs to stay mounted.

When the horse finally settled, she rubbed her tired eyes, keenly aware of the others' gaze. She muttered curses. "Sorry. I need a minute."

If anyone wanted to speak, they didn't. A tiny, tiny part of her was annoyed no one tried to console her, but a greater part of her was relieved. It was better to be self-reliant, to not have to depend on others to keep it together and carry you along.

She looked up at the road ahead of them. "The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get out of here."

"Agreed," Gundar replied. "Hopefully the goblins did not hear the noise."

"If they're living next to a waterfall they won't hear much of anything," Rain replied.

"They'll see the smoke," Quarrel-Karn warned.

Shakairra snapped the reigns. "Then we'd better hurry."

When the trees grew too thick they tethered their horses and continued on foot, the grass and mud giving away beneath their feet with _pat pat patting_ noises, barely audible over the growing roar of the falls.

Rain was the first to see the smoke. Only light gray wisps against the zircon sky, growing darker and thicker with each step, until the world became black soot in front of them, thick as the sound of hundreds of buckets of water pounding the rocks, yet the fires were small and hardly posed a threat.

The goblins hadn't used the tunnels for living quarters. Why not, Shakairra didn't know. Perhaps they preferred mud and wood houses at the base of the pale waterfall surrounded by trees. They were small, filling into the nook in the hill that housed the falls like a bundle of mushrooms. Burning mushrooms.

"Did they evacuate?" Shakairra wondered. "Put the place to the torch behind them?"

"No," Rain answered, approaching a small corpse half-buried in rubble. While the goblin had died an adult, the size forced images of dead children in Shakairra's mind.

"There is magic here," Gundar declared, stepping onto the ash and looking around.

"Lots of it," Quarrel-Karn agreed. "Can you feel it?"

Rain wrinkled her flat nose. "My fingers are tingling and there's a funny smell in the air."

"The tingling is your body picking up magic residue," he explained, wiggling his fingers at her. "These are the most sensitive parts of the body. These and toes and tongue."

"Can your fingers and toes tell us who or what did this?" Shakairra asked.

"A wizard of sorts," he said, stepping over another charred body. "Maybe a sorcerer."

"What's the difference?" Rain asked.

"Wizards know what they're doing. Sorcerers don't."

Something snapped behind them.

Everyone whirled around, weapons drawn. The goblin child shrank back.

Shakairra, Rain, and Gundar relaxed. "Just a child."

Quarrel-Karn did not lower his sword. "We should kill it."

Shakairra stared at him. _And they call tieflings cruel and unsavory. _"Maybe you didn't hear me: it's a child."

"For now. When it grows up, it'll be part of a raid. We deal with it now, no one else dies."

"I wonder how many Netherese have said that."

Quarrel-Karn gave her a dark look, the flames of his head burning uncomfortably hot. "Don't you dare put me in the same league as _them_."

"I dare much farther." _Tell me I'm calculating this right, you gods_. "Do it."

He blinked. "What?"

She tilted her head to the tiny goblin, still shrunk in himself, paralyzed in fear. "You want him dead so bad, do it. Half a heartbeat and you'll never have to deal with him again. But his death will be dealt and his grave will be dug by your hand."

True to his deva roots Gundar moved not at all, but his face may have betrayed a glimmer of dismay before he quickly hid it. Rain was staring at her. "Shakairra, even by the laws of nature, this is cruel."

"Don't take it up with me, talk to _him_," she replied.

Rain's golden eyes were shining with desperation. "Quarrel-Karn, you're better than this. I see the good in you."

He spun around with a harsh glare, fires raging. "You see nothing, beast!" He turned back, brandishing his sword over his head, bearing it down on the goblin...

...and holding it against his neck.

Shakairra's heart was in her throat as she watched Quarrel-Karn hold his sword against the goblin's neck, drawing a thin line of blood where the neck and shoulder met. The goblin child had snot running out of his nose and tears down his eyes but was too terrified to wipe them off his face.

After a long, silent moment Quarrel-Karn dropped his sword from limp fingers and rubbed his eyes. "Gundar, tell it to go away."

The harsh, guttural syllables of the Goblin tongue sounded perfect and strange coming out of the deva's mouth, but they got the child to bolt into the smoke and ruins.

_We should've interrogated him, first,_ Shakairra lamented, but wasn't about to call him back.

"What changed your mind?" Rain asked.

"That's none of our business," Shakairra snapped. Tieflings understood privacy better than most races, and the inner torments of the soul. Whatever dark little piece of himself Quarrel-Karn had conquered was his alone.

"It's all right," he said, his voice devoid of all previous defiance and anger. He sounded tired. "Just something my brother told me once. 'There are two types of soldiers,' he said. 'The weak and the strong. The compassionate soldiers are the strong ones'."

"Sound advice," Rain complimented. "How did he die?"

_Do you have to stick your nose in everything?_ Shakairra almost shrieked, but she held her tongue.

Quarrel-Karn reached down and lifted his sword from the ground, brushing the soot and dirt from the handle. "Goblins."


	9. the Warden

Death had a peculiar smell and a mixture of good and tragic memories for Rain. Fresh blood flowing over lush grass and leaves were from her first hunt. Decay, pus, and urine had greeted her in the stuffy home of the village elder at his passing. Burning wood and flesh had chased her in the wildfire of her early childhood. Now it lingered in the air with the dying smoke like a heavy fog, choking the trees and small plants and patches of grass that had survived the attack. Little fires sputtered at the small party as they searched for survivors or an entrance to the tunnels the red-haired human had spoken of.

_The World Healer will mend this land_, Rain thought. The nearest civilization posed no threat to the land and seemed to respect the wild, even if they did hack down trees from time to time for trivial things. The goblins, on the other hand, had had minimal respect for anything outside of themselves. They had to find the tunnels and make sure corruption wouldn't return. But that was almost impossible through the ash and smoke.

"If we find survivors beneath the surface, what are your plans for them?" Gundar asked.

_He is uncomfortable here,_ Rain realized. _He feels anger...or is it guilt?_ It was hard to tell with the deva, such a strange and foreign creature. The tribe elder had told her of devas once. He had visited a city in his youth and seen one, an immortal servitor of the gods of civilization, a spirit who had chosen mortality to aid the "goodly races", though they weren't entirely mortal. Devas' souls were reincarnated upon death in the same sort of flesh. Yet even though they lived in such a perfect cycle of life and death, they wished to abandon this gift, to become wholly living or return to their immortal lives.

"Depends on who we find," Shakairra answered. "If it's children and non-combatants we let them go, banish them from this area. If it's warriors who choose to attack us, we kill them."

"Assuming we can find them," Quarrel-Karn added.

"Right."

Gundar looked distressed. "I have been praying to Moradin for guidance, yet he does not show me the way."

Shakairra gave a brief eye-roll out of the invoker's sight before Rain said, "That's because your god has limited power here."

Gundar paused, forcing the others to a halt. "I beg your pardon?"

Rain rested her hammer against her shoulder, comforted by its familiar great weight. "Gods draw their power from symbols and prayer. Look around, Gundar; you're in nature's realm now. If we want divine guidance we have to ask the spirits."

"Or we could just do this ourselves," Shakairra suggested.

"Yes, and look how great that's going," Quarrel-Karn complained.

Rain turned away from the group as Gundar asked, "You do not respect the gods, Romazi?"

"The only things the gods have given us are reasons to kill each other."

There was something in the side of the hill, hidden by trees. "The few people who correctly interpret their messages are either so full of themselves they do little to help the common folk or they get sucked into the clouds to become an angel and help only those who follow their god."

There was movement amid the rubble. "Never mind that there are plenty of people of other faiths who are perfectly good, decent folk."

Something...something of this world yet above it. "So no, Gundar. I don't respect or beg help from the gods because they pit good people against each other."

Rain inhaled the clearing wind and reached deep within, to her link with the spirit world, which was not another plane of existence like with the gods but was in fact this world. The distant trees drew into sharper focus, the smells became stronger and more distinct, she could feel the worms in the ground and see the spider rebuild her web. And there, where she had spotted movement, she could see an outline...of what?

"Rain?"

_The link needs to be stronger_, she realized, and slipped into her guardian form.

"Rain!"

"Oh, gods!"

Black scales coated her skin, replacing the thin layer of fur that usually covered her body. Her vision shifted from just the light bouncing off of objects to also seeing the heat within each being. She could feel the pulse of the world around her: the grass growing beneath her feet, the wind curling around her and running its fingers through her long and wild hair, the pack of wolves on the edge of the forest not a mile away running atop the plains, the herd of deer fleeing from the predators, the might of the great oaks and frailty of their dying leaves.

"What's happened to her?" Shakairra's voice was strong and firm thunder, almost completely covering her fear.

"Nothing." Gundar was fascinated. "She's taken a guardian form."

"A what?"

Quarrel-Karn groaned. "Great."

She had no time for it. Shakairra's confusion, Gundar's wonder, Quarrel-Karn's anger. Rain only had eyes for the wolf on top of the rubble.

It was a huge, transparent beast, twice the size of an ordinary wolf, the sunlight filtering through its white fur. The spirit turned and began to walk towards the falls.

Ignoring the others, Rain followed it as the trees thinned and the dirt turned to stone and the water deafened her sharp ears. The black-eyed, white-coated wolf hopped onto one of the large, flat stones of the little pond created by the falls that filtered into a stream. The wolf waited for Rain to jump onto another rock behind it, her toes curling over the edge to keep her balance, before it leaped into the falls, vanishing with a spray of water.

"Rain, what in the Nine Hells are you doing?"

Rain smiled, her long, forked tongue lashed our of her scaly mouth. "Following divine guidance." She jumped into the falls.


	10. the Lightbringer

"Sewers?" Quarrel-Karn guessed, shaking the water from his sword and reasserting the flames on his head, which had sputtered out when he'd passed through the waterfall.

"Probably," Shakairra replied. "Though they haven't been used in decades."

"Sixty-four years," Gundar confirmed, wringing the water from his robe.

Quarrel-Karn frowned. "How do you know that?"

"I'm quite learned in history."

"So am I."

"Can we continue?" Rain asked, the dark scales receding from her face.

Quarrel-Karn studied her. When he'd called her a beast, it was because she'd displayed nothing but the savagery and simple-mindedness of wild barbarians, but now... "How did you find this place?"

She shrugged with a pleased smile. "I opened my eyes and the spirits guided me."

Shakairra gave her a strange look. "Did opening your eyes involve becoming reptilian?"

"It's the form of the dread serpent. Each warden can take on the characteristics of a beast or plant spirit to grant them a closer connection to the spirits."

"Warden?"

Rain rested her hammer on her shoulder. "A chosen protector of the wild lands, a guardian of nature."

"I thought those were barbarians."

She shook her head. In the dark gloom of the ancient sewers her bestial face looked more wolf than human. "Barbarians fight a tribe's wars, druids hunt with the beasts whose form they take, and shamans speak for the spirits. Wardens are a new type of warrior. We've risen to combat the spawning civilizations and cities that taint and drain the land."

"Like...goblins?"

Rain smiled. "Like goblins, yes."

Shakairra squinted down the tunnel. "Anyone have a torch?"

"Here." Quarrel-Karn poured arcana through his sword, the only comfort he found in a place like this with such a company. The sword glimmered and glowed, bringing the sun's light to the dark cavern to illuminate the faces of the tiefling he mistrusted, the deva he didn't understand, and the shifter he now feared.

"Survivors," Rain warned, pointing to the ground. Spaced tracks left by little running feet scattered the ground. "They ran this way."

The sewer was just wide enough for them to walk single-file. Quarrel-Karn took the front, leading the way with his shining sword. Rain was right behind him, followed by Shakairra, with Gundar bringing up the rear. The tunnel was riddled with twists and turns and rats and funky smells. Black holes in the walls just large enough for little goblins to squeeze through glared at them, but they largely ignored them, even though many of the tracks led through such openings. They walked for what seemed like miles in silence before Rain perked up and slowed their pace. Quarrel-Karn dimmed the light coming from his sword, then turned it off completely when they came upon the first torches sticking out of the walls through holes bashed into the rock.

The tunnel stretched on and on, but there was a fork in the road after just a few minutes. They could either continue straight and follow the trail of little torches or could take the sharp left in front of them. That passage had a deer's hide covering it, and within were sounds of goblins squabbling and arguing.

Quarrel-Karn let Rain pass so should could sneak a peak into the room. When she pulled out, she smiled, and whispered in his ear, "No non-combatants. Fifteen warriors, two minor shamans."

When the message was passed, Quarrel-Karn hopped deftly to the other side of the deerhide door with Shakairra at his heels. At her nod, he sliced open the hide and burst into the room, charging the first goblin his eyes fell upon.

It was said there was a special connection between a swordmage and his blade, a magic bond that allowed the swordmage to cast his spells. Those who said it were correct. Quarrel-Karn's sword sang as he sliced through rusted mail and leather and flesh. It was almost as sweet a music as the goblin's screams.

Shakairra came roaring after him, landing right beside him as her trident impaled the first victim's buddy. He didn't see Rain, but Quarrel-Karn heard her bash another goblin to his right, and saw him fly through the air and slam into the stone wall before one of Gundar's crystalline orbs shattered against a fourth goblin, tearing him and everyone near him to pieces.

Once inside the room, Quarrel-Karn got a second to observe his surroundings. It wasn't part of the sewers; the goblins had taken shovels and pickaxes to the stone to create this room, which was a sleeping area, given the smelly pelts and strange, homey objects piled around, making for a bumpy terrain. There were now about ten goblin warriors left, scrambling for some sort of order as they tried to protect the two shamans in the back of the room. Both were less decorated than the one that'd led the attack on Loudwater, but they both had twisted rods and they both aimed them at Rain. Ribbons of acid flew from the ends. Rain raised her giant, thick shield and got slammed, the force of the combined magical blasts blowing her off her feet.

Quarrel-Karn moved to help her, but found his way blocked by goblins. He poured magic into his blade and hacked at the first. Green flames sprouted from the huge sword and engulfed the next two, but it wasn't fast enough. A bone spear sliced through his shoulder, cutting through the light cloth and magic that shielded him, as two swords came down on Rain.

Gundar blasted one of the sword-wielders with a ray of searing light that burned through flesh and bone. Shakairra stabbed the goblin that'd gotten Quarrel-Karn's shoulder as he gritted his teeth and pulled the spearhead out. That arm was useless now, and he wasn't strong enough to wield his giant sword with one hand.

_But I can burn that other goblin that killed Rain_, he thought, and was about to bull through the line of goblins in his path and do just that when a harsh, low growl filled his ears and the cavern trembled.

The wind picked up. How that happened several feet underground Quarrel-Karn didn't know, but a breeze swirled around them, kicking up pelts and distracting the goblin with the sword until Rain kicked him in the gut.

"By the Nine Gates," Shakairra breathed as Rain shot to her feet with a snarl.

All friendliness was gone from those golden eyes; her face was twisted and fierce, like that of some savage beast. Blood drenched her leather armor, but the two fatal wounds that hadn't quite killed her glowed green with a type of power Quarrel-Karn couldn't recognize. It wasn't the finger-tingling arcana or the heart-stirring divine. This was something that went much deeper, that was here before even the gods had walked the earth, and it was sealing Rain's wounds and his own, too. He felt a breath of fresh and invigorating air course through his body as his fiery energy lines took on a greenish hue and the ravaging wound on his shoulder clotted, mended, sealed.

He grabbed his sword with both hands and swung it on the next goblin's head, fires roaring from the attack as Rain gave that bone-chilling howl of hers and slammed the sword-wielding goblin with her shield, blowing him straight into Shakairra's trident. Three goblins left the genasi and tiefling to form a line between this mad shifter and their shaman masters. Rain the She-Wolf gave a vicious smile that turned reptilian as black scales sprouted from her body and she slipped right past them and slashed at the nearest shaman with her axehead.

There were five left for Quarrel-Karn and Shakairra. The tiefling took a knife graze to the thigh and responded with narrowed golden eyes and a burst of flame from within the attacking goblin. Quarrel-Karn was gaining a new appreciation for tieflings as he slashed at another foe, stepping in front of Shakairra as he did so she would have a minute to recover. One of Gundar's crystal orbs took care of the rest.

Rain's shield took another beating at the uninjured shaman tried spraying her with acid again. The injured one had taken a blow to the side of his torso, but even from here Quarrel-Karn could see the wound was blackening and had a sickly smell. He shifted away from Rain, saw him and Shakairra, and a huge gust of acid was hurled at them both. Quarrel-Karn rolled out of the way while the tiefling raised her small shield. The acid persisted, and Quarrel-Karn could see purple veins sprouted along Shakairra's forehead as she tried to keep the shield in place. "Gundar, this is you!"

Quarrel-Karn turned to the shamans and pointed to the injured one. A stream of arcana connected the two of them, his mark emblazoned on the shaman's chest in harmless fire that created a gateway for him to go through, taking one step here and appearing over there. Yet before he could do that, the strangest sight occurred.

A great pillar of light appeared behind the two shamans, and out stepped a humanoid figure wrought of flames, a dwarf, perhaps. Quarrel-Karn couldn't quite figure out what it was until it spread its great wings, and he realized Gundar had summoned a minor, female angel of Moradin.

The angel raised her hammer and slammed it against the shaman's back, breaking his stream of acid. The uninjured shaman paled at the sight, turned, and attempted to run. The angel bashed her hammer into his leg, flames leaping from the weapon as the shaman yelped at his broken bones and burned flesh and was silenced forever when the angel brought her hammer upon his head.

When the poisoned shaman saw that he was alone, he dropped his wand and slumped against the wall, squeaking, "Yield."

Quarrel-Karn turned back to Gundar filled with wonder and astonishment at this great power...and ran to catch him before the deva fainted. After lifting the great blue man up and then setting him against a pile of hides, Quarrel-Karn touched his shoulder. "You all right?"

"I am...unhurt," he huffed, rubbing his sweaty brow. "Thank you."

"Gundar."

The angel's voice was ethereal and echoed as she began to fade. She said something in a flowing, perfect language Quarrel-Karn couldn't comprehend-and could only think it was Angelic-before she vanished completely.

He turned back to Gundar, who had a strange, enlightened look on his face. "What did she say?"

"It is...it does not concern this. Us. As of yet."

Quarrel-Karn studied him for a good long moment, then decided that the deva was entitled to his secrets. He hadn't almost killed a child today, which was more than Quarrel-Karn could say.

Shakairra turned to the surviving shaman as Rain-still in her dread serpent form-leered over him with her hammer. The tiefling's voice was harsh, merciless, and demanding. "How many others are there?"

The goblin had this queer smile on his face, as if death suddenly didn't bother him anymore. "The Great One. You will have to face him."

"How many guards does he have?"

The goblin shrugged.

"All right, let's try this: how did your people get the firepowder to blow down our wall?"

"Trade."

"What did you trade?"

Quarrel-Karn saw the movement too late; one of the warriors that had been bashed by Rain's hammer wasn't fully dead, and was on his feet running. "Shak-!"

A blast of lightning from behind cut him off. Shakairra whirled around in time to see the charred corpse of the goblin warrior collapse at her feet.

She stared at Quarrel-Karn, who stared at Gundar, who stared at the shadow fleeing down the hall.

"Finish him," Shakairra barked before running across the room and out into the passage.

The shaman lost his courage. "Wait!"

Rain did not wait. With a swipe of her axehead his head went rolling as she followed Shakairra at a dead sprint. Quarrel-Karn stayed just long enough to help Gundar to his feet before hurrying after them, following the trail of torches before he almost ran into Rain and Shakairra, who'd come to a dead stop.

There were two doors. The one at the very end of the hall was steel and barred on this side. The other was on the left and made of wood with an iron lock.

There, kneeling in front of that iron lock and picking at it with a knife, was a drow.


	11. the Judge

She saw Quarrel-Karn take a step with his sword ready and pulled him back by the vest. "Hold it."

The flames on his head roared. "This isn't some goblin child, Shakairra, this is a drow!"

"To whom I owe a debt. Now back off!"

She kept her eyes locked on Quarrel-Karn's, daring him to defy her and counting the heartbeats in her ears. When she got to thirteen, Quarrel-Karn gave a disgusted snort and took a step back.

Shakairra glanced over at the other two. Gundar was still pale from his angel act, and Rain had placed herself in a defensive pose with her legs spread and her shield up between him and the drow.

The drow herself stayed silent, watching with big eyes that were one minute deep sapphire, the next royal violet, depending on the flickers of the nearest torch. She was wiry, bordering skinny, and the patches of skin that weren't covered in her faded grey robe were covered in the unmistakable ebony skin with a blue hue. Strands of wavy, silver hair poked out from her hood. The knife in her hands was long and slender, but Shakairra was more concerned about the ivory staff leaning against the wall, elegant and beautiful with intricate spiderweb designs carved into the pale surface.

"Do you speak the common tongue?" Shakairra asked.

"And a few others," the drow replied in a deep, elegant accent. "I'm foreign, not stupid."

"What's your name?"

"Elkvein. Yours?"

"Shakairra Romazi. This is Gundar, Rain, and the one who tried to kill you is Quarrel-Karn."

"Charmed."

"You destroyed the village above."

Elkvein shrugged. "They ambushed me while I was camping and brought me here. They soon learned their mistake."

"There were children up there."

"They got in my way." She gave a twisted smile. "Magic's a tricky thing to tame."

_You're not making it easy for me to stick my neck out for you_, Shakairra thought, choking on her anger. "So why are you still here?"

Elkvein stood, the knife still in the lock. Shakairra felt the others stiffen behind her and did her best to ignore the instincts that screamed at her to do the same. "I got curious. I saw you four march in and find the falls and wanted to explore."

"And back there? Saving my life?"

"That was more for my benefit than yours."

"To get us to trust you?"

"To keep you from killing me when I was discovered. Obviously, it worked."

Quarrel-Karn leaned in close to her ear. "We should get rid of her now. It'll be much more difficult later."

"I agree," said Rain.

"I do not."

Shakairra smiled, keeping her eyes on Elkvein. "Why not, Gundar?"

"We were sent here to root out the goblins. As none of us were here at the time of Elkvein's actions we must assume she is telling the truth and that any innocents dead at her hand were war casualties."

"I see white hair and dark skin that tells me to assume she's lying," Quarrel-Karn growled.

"You are assuming her personality and trustworthiness based solely on her appearance and heritage."

"There's a reason drow were banished to the Underdark: they couldn't be trusted. They're ambitious, cruel creatures-"

"Who have contented themselves with their little games in the Underdark," Shakairra interrupted. "Yet we have one on the surface."

"A spy," Quarrel-Karn justified.

"What's there to spy on up here?"

Elkvein shrugged. "You people really don't interest the matrons of the Underdark in the least."

"Then what are you doing up here?" he demanded. "Hm? What's a dark elf doing so far from home?"

"I could ask the same of you. I normally don't interact with the people of the surface or enter cities. Even so, you four seem like a rather strange company."

"You're not asking us, we're asking _you_." Quarrel-Karn raised his sword. "Why are you here?"

Shakairra didn't stop him. She wouldn't have asked, but if sating his curiosity would keep the swordmage in line she wasn't going to object.

"For my health," Elkvein answered almost immediately. She knew how thin the ice was beneath her feet; the slightest hesitation would indicate a lie and spell her death. "I developed an unsavory hatred for the Spider Queen and realized my survival was much more likely on the surface. So, here I am."

There was a long silence as Shakairra tried to determine what to do. Elkvein's hatred for the drow goddess Lolth had given her some credibility, yet there were still limited options. Telling Elkvein to go fuck herself and trying to chase her out of the sewers could prove disastrous, but no one was too keen on letting her come with them. And though she may deserve death, Shakairra wasn't going to announce herself judge and execute someone just for the crime of being drow.

"How badly do you want to go through those doors?" she asked.

Elkvein gave a wicked smile. "I'm dying of curiosity."

"And how long have you been on the surface?"

She counted her slender fingers. "This will be my...fourth winter. Sort of. I came up just before spring, but I don't really count that as one of my winters."

"Then you know how your people look in your eyes."

"I'd say 'unfavorable'."

_She may be drow, but she's fun_. Shakairra kept her face straight and serious. "Let me be blunt: I don't trust you. At all. And yes, I understand the irony of this given my own heritage, but that's at the bottom of my list of concerns right now. You're coming with us."

"What?" Quarrel-Karn roared.

"Would you prefer to let her wander in the shadows?" Shakairra demanded, turning to face him, fully aware her back was exposed to Elkvein. Hopefully that would inspire a bit of trust. "I won't have her executed."

Quarrel-Karn sulked, and said nothing more.

She turned back to Elkvein, who hadn't moved. "You're coming with us to help us uproot the rest if the goblins and end the threat to the city of Loudwater. If we all get out of this alive and..._reasonably_ unhurt...I'll split my gold with you. However." Bribes wouldn't be enough; there had to be fear in the mix as well, especially with drow. "You follow _my_ orders. That means if I say stop, you stop. If I say fight, you fight. And if I say stick around to help me save someone, you plant your feet. Disobey or cause the death of myself or anyone else here, and you die. Understand?"

Elkvein grinned, jiggled her knife, and the lock came undone with a harsh _click_. "Let's get started."


	12. the Agent of Mercy

_Strange that a tiefing should be so judgmental,_ Elkvein thought. _Oh, well. I can't blame her; I wouldn't trust me, either._

She didn't know why she'd chosen the name Elkvein. Her actual name was much better, but this one had just slipped out of her lips like so many other lies riddled with bits of truth. She wondered if Shakairra's true name was Shakairra. It sounded like an eladrin name, really; that wizard's apprentice Shanairra.

_She'd hated me with a passion_, Elkvein reflected as she followed the tiefling down the corridor. _That hatred had only been overpowered by ambition_. Few eladrin held such powerful emotions, especially ones so negative. Usually that was reserved for their two cousins: some unsavory elves and almost every drow.

Walking in the sewers made Elkvein feel at home and uneasy at the same time, but that was what a life in the Underdark would do. These crusted cement sewers with only a few feet of dirt separating them from fresh air was nothing compared to the infinite, treacherous Underdark. Here they only had to worry about a few goblins. Where Elkvein was from they'd have to worry about hook horrors, driders, poisonous mushrooms, ropers, other drow...really everything that lived in the Underdark.

The deva towering behind her was slowly regaining his strength, but even at full power she'd probably be able shove him aside with a blast of thunder, or simply bull over him. She could probably outrun the rest of them...

Elkvein shook her head and continued to follow Shakairra as the sewers led to a hallway which led to a spiraling staircase winding down down down. After what must've been at least half a mile, and Elkvein thought she may wind up back in the Underdark, they came upon another door.

Quarrel-Karn jiggled the knob. "Locked."

Elkvein slipped out her knife. "I could-"

Rain shoved Quarrel-Karn aside and bashed the door down with her shoulder.

"Or, we could resort to violence."

Quarrel-Karn gave her a dark look, but Shakairra had a wry smile as they filed into the room. It was older than the rest of the cavern, and large enough to comfortably house half a dozen giants. Perhaps once, centuries ago, it had been richly decorated. Now the few statues that remained were crumbling ruins that looked vaguely humanoid. On the opposite wall from the group a roaring fire pit gave the room a mean red glow. In the center of the room was an elevated sarcophagus big enough to hold either a very large orc or a small giant. The lid had been removed and was leaning against the side like the wall of a tent. Dancing and jumping in circles and somersaults was a goblin shaman, richly dressed in only half-decayed rags and clattering bones.

He paused when he saw them. Elkvein glanced around for any guards, but there was no one. _Could this seriously be "the Great One"?_

The goblin beamed and spoke in perfect Common: "Are you here to help me raise the great Meshecca?"

Even Shakairra seemed at a loss. "Uh..."

"Yes!" Rain blurted.

"Wonderful!" The goblin resumed his dancing with greater fervor.

Quarrel-Karn snorted. "We're dealing with idiots all right. These are not the steps for any raise dead ritual I know."

"Well, goblins aren't exactly known for their intelligence," Shakairra muttered.

Rain turned back to them. "So? What do we do?"

"Kill him," Quarrel-Karn suggested.

Elkvein barely heard them. Her mind was deep beneath the earth, years ago. Goblins lived in the Underdark, too, though more often than not served as slaves to the drow. They were allowed their holidays and minor festivals so long as it did not interfere with their work. One day a goblin was gathering water from an underground river during one of these goblin holidays. When none of the guards were looking, he started doing a little dance. Basic, at first, just a little bob of his head to an inner beat. Then his entire body got involved as he filled his bucket and hopped to the wagon, getting some smiles from the other slaves with ridiculous twists and tricks, until one of the guards saw him and shot a crossbow bolt in his belly.

With part of her mind still in the shadow of memory, Elkvein pushed past Quarrel-Karn and approached the goblin.

He paused when he saw her, blinking when he realized what she was. "Oh. Hello."

"Hi." She smacked him in the head with her staff.

The goblin dropped to the ground, creating a tiny waterfall out of drool as his mind swam in unconsciousness.

The four adventurers were staring at her when she turned around. Elkvein shrugged. "What?"

Shakairra was the first to crack a smile and chuckle. "Rain, tie him up. We'll bring him back to Loudwater and let the courts deal with him."

_He'll probably die either way,_ Elkvein realized as the shifter moved to obey. _Oh, well. At least he has a few more days to make peace with his gods._

"What do you think's in the next room?" Quarrel-Karn asked, the goblin tied and gagged over his shoulder.

"Whatever it is, they certainly didn't want it coming out." Shakairra ungagged the goblin, who was just coming around. "What's your name?"

The goblins spat, aiming for her face and getting her shoulder instead.

"I'll just call you Mr. Sulk," she decided, wiping the spittle away with her sleeve. "The steel door upstairs, the one barred on this side. Where does it lead?"

"A room."

"What's in this room?"

"Merchandise."

"For the firepowder?"

Mr. Sulk didn't answer.

"Fair enough." Shakairra shoved the rag back in his mouth. "Looks like we get some spoils after all."

They dumped Mr. Sulk in the corner once they reached the sewer and the steel door. Rain unbarred it and brandished her hammer as Quarrel-Karn cracked it open.

The room was dark as pitch, but generations in the Underdark had conditioned Elkvein's eyes to peer into the gloom, to see heat instead of light. She knew what they would find before Quarrel-Karn's sword cleared a path into the darkness and Rain gasped.

Elves, humans, and half-elves chained to the walls. Some had been here only a few days, others for weeks, given the states of their beards and bodies. Most looked like hunters in cloth and leather, but there were a few in the same uniform as Shakairra.

"What the hell?" Quarrel-Karn demanded once they'd stepped into the room.

"The villagers who've gone missing the past month," Shakairra explained, examining the nearest lock. "Elkvein, a little help?"

_They'll try to tear me to pieces,_ Elkvein thought, catching the dark looks the elves gave her. Part of her hoped they'd try, just so she could zap them with lightning or blow them apart with thunder.

She kept a solemn face as she took out her knife and began tinkering with the locks.

Gundar disappeared from the room, then reappeared with a set of keys. "A gift from the head shaman."

"I don't get it; why kidnap people?" Quarrel-Karn asked, taking the keys and undoing chains as Gundar and Rain searched for wounds.

"Firepowder's expensive," Shakairra replied through gritted teeth. "So are slaves."

"Anyone who left this room never returned," a half-elf huffed, rubbing his chaffed wrists once Elkvein released him. "We thought we were being executed."

"Just sold to a life of labor and misery," Elkvein said, keeping the cheer out of her voice. That was no more than what these people deserved. They'd failed to defend themselves; ergo, they owed their lives to the warriors who'd conquered them. Whether that meant death or a life of servitude was up to the masters, and Elkvein found the prospect of goblin masters over elves endlessly amusing.

The half-elf struggled to his feet as she moved on to the next victim. "I thank you for your help, drow," he said cautiously, "but unfortunately the city of Loudwater will not allow you past the walls."

_You mean the wall with a giant hole in it? _"I hate cities."

"I'm gathering my gold tonight and leaving in the morning," Shakairra said, looking over a nasty cut on a woman's arm. "If the captain really won't let you into the city, I'll give your share to you then, Elkvein."

Elkvein found herself remembering something her tutor had told her as a child, years before she'd been sold into Patron Jarlaxle's service. "Tieflings are the descendants of humans and devils," she'd said. "They are a vicious and conniving and sinister people, who cheat everyone the first chance they get. They'd be high in Lolth's favor if they had any scrap of honor."

_You'd better have a code of honor, Romazi, _Elkvein thought, _or you'll find yourself a corpse._


	13. the Wanderer

"Are you sure you can't stay?" Devian asked for the fifth time that morning.

"Positive," Shakairra replied, saddling the horse Captain Wil had insisted on gifting her in addition to the seventy-five gold coins, since the only "treasure" they'd uncovered at the falls was twelve captives, none of whom mentioned the dark elf.

"But...but where will you go?"

Shakairra shrugged, mentally checking off all the supplies she'd packed. "South. I'd like to see Akanul one of these days, but there are tiefling communities on the Sword Coast and Dragon Coast, and I'll get more respect there than most other places." She'd been tempted to go to the city of Memnon of the desert nation Calimshan; that city was absorbing any tiefling it could put to military use against its enemy city Calimport. The only things those two cities had in common was their undying hatred of each other and their relentless use of slavery. Shakairra had supped on enough hatred in her short life and had no wish to endure the sight of slavery, never mind fight and possibly die for a city that encouraged it.

"You have respect _here!_"

She smiled. "You're a sweet, stupid kid, Lime. Loudwater accepts me now, but for how long? Eventually they'll forget. Besides, this place is too close to Luruar for my taste."

Devian's face fell. "So...I'll never see you again?"

She swung onto the saddle. "Probably not."

Devian stepped forward, fiddling with something in his hands. "Then...here. I have something for you."

He held up an amulet carved out of bone in the shape of a fiery shield overlapped with a sword. "I know you're not a god person, but I thought that since you're a soldier and you seem to do a lot of fighting...I don't know. Tempus might bring luck."

Shakairra's first instincts were to throw it away. She didn't need gods in her life. But she forced herself to hold onto it and study it, and the more she looked at it the more she noticed the intricacies that'd gone into the carving of the greater god's symbol. "Did you carve this?"

Little Lime gave a bashful smile and nodded.

"This is...this is really good, Devian. Thank you." _What the hell?_ she thought, tying it around her neck. _I could use a little luck._ "Take care of yourself, Devian."

He stepped out of the path of the horse. "You, too, Shakairra."

As the horse began to walk down the street, Shakairra turned back to the little green-eyed guard. "And don't let them make fun of your pimples!"

Devian grinned. "Will do!"

When Shakairra got to the gates, a small crowd had gathered to see them off. Gundar, Rain, and Quarrel-Karn were there as well, all mounted, though Rain was leading a second horse packed with supplies by the reigns.

"Where you off to, Rain?" Shakairra asked.

"East, to the Forest of Lethyr," she answered. "There are shifter and lycanthrope tribes there. You?"

Shakairra shrugged. "Waterdeep and the Sword Coast, first. Failing that, the Dragon Coast. Sparky?"

"I'm gonna do some careful stepping to get my artifact from the Shallow Sea."

"Try not to die."

He gave a lazy grin. "Great advice, Romazi."

"I thought you did not respect the gods," Gundar commented.

She gave him a weird look. "Huh?"

He tapped his chest.

Shakairra looked down and saw Devian's bone amulet glaring at her. "Oh. A farewell gift from a friend."

"Smart," Quarrel-Karn complimented. "Someone like you's always getting in trouble."

"Ha." Shakairra turned back to Gundar. "What about you, Blue? Where you off to?"

"The dwarven outpost Citadel Felbarr."

Shakairra sucked in a breath. "That's real close to Silverymoon."

"I'm well aware, but I doubt High Lord Erevan will have much objection towards me. Devas and eladrin have worked together for as long as there have been devas."

"Why Felbarr?" Rain asked.

"The citadel has been having difficulties with orc tribe known as Many-Arrows. As a servant of Moradin, it is my duty to protect his people."

Quarrel-Karn gave him a friendly smack on the shoulder. "Well, good luck with that."

_Don't touch a deva_, Shakairra thought, biting her tongue with her pointed teeth to not laugh at the startled look on Gundar's face.

"Before we part ways, there's something I need to take care of," Rain said, approaching the genasi.

Quarrel-Karn frowned. "What?"

The blow came so quickly if Shakairra had blinked she would've missed it. One minute Quarrel-Karn was on his horse, practically dozing in the heavy fog of morning, the next he was sprawled on the ground in the frozen mud, his horse anxiously nickering as Rain shook out her right hand with a contented smile and the crowd gasped. "There. Now I can sleep at night."

Shakairra leaned forward to get a better look at the blooming bruise on Quarrel-Karn's obsidian skin. It would be purple, and the energy lines caught in the blow were glowing less brilliantly. "Good punch."

"Thank you!"

Quarrel-Karn rubbed his jaw. "Was that for calling you a beast?"

"Among other things." With that, Rain promptly trotted out of Loudwater.

He stood, wiped the mud off his jacket as best he could, and re-mounted. "Remind me never to go on quests with a werewolf again."

"She's not a werewolf," Shakairra argued.

"She's of lycanthropic descent. Same difference."

"That's like saying tieflings and devils are the 'same difference'."

Quarrel-Karn winced, and Shakairra thought she saw him blush. "Er...sorry."

_I'll be so glad to get rid of this one_. She gave a smile. "No worries. Good luck chasing your myth, Sparky."

"It's not a myth!"

"Myth. Bye, Gundar."

"Gods preserve you, Romazi."

_Gods preserve_ you, _since you need them so bad_. Shakairra trotted out of town and didn't look back, not even when the crowd cheered her for the first time in her life.

She followed the Grayflow Road, a thin, wiry thing that led to the Sea of Swords to the west. Shakairra planned on turning northwest at the city of Daggerford and follow a more well-defined road to Waterdeep. It would be a short journey, only a couple tendays. She may be able to get there before the first snows.

_I certainly_ hope _I get there before the first snows_, she thought as another rider came up behind her. "After your gold, Elkvein?"

The drow rode a black mare, with a coat darker than her rider's skin. "We had an agreement."

Shakairra reached down to one of the many bags hanging off her saddle and gave one to Elkvein. "Here. Thirty-two gold pieces and fifty silver."

Elkvein peaked into the bag, took out a gold piece, and bit it. She nodded. "Nice."

"Do you have a plan, Elkvein?"

"Survive."

_Figured_. "You'll have a better chance in Cormyr."

"Where now?"

Shakairra reigned up, forcing Elkvein to do the same, and pulled a map of Faerun out of another bag. She unrolled it and held it up. "This is us, near Loudwater, and we're on the south side of the Grayflow Road. You follow it to Daggerford and turn southeast, you'll end up in maybe the only area in Faerun that openly accepts drow. Some spots in the Dragon Coast might let you in, since they care more about gold than skin color, but the closer to Cormyr you get, the better."

"Cormyr's an elf place."

"You're an elf, Elkvein."

The drow gave her an annoyed look. "Why are you helping me?"

"I tend to regret helping people less often than being cruel to them."

"I find it's better just to let people work things out on their own."

Shakairra shrugged and folded up the map. "Fine by me. But you won't get by up here just by tearing down goblin villages."

"Why not? It worked for you."

"Temporarily. It may keep people from killing you for a little while. A tenday or two. For me it earns me a bit of respect that's quickly forgotten."

"Well, I guess I'd better upgrade to giants, then."

Shakairra laughed. "Good luck with that."

"What's _your_ plan, Romazi?"

"Waterdeep. Failing that, the Dragon Coast or Cormyr."

"We seem to share a common destination and a similar hatred."

"Are you suggesting we pair up?"

Elkvein shrugged. "Wouldn't be my worst idea."

_She doesn't trust me_, Shakairra realized. _She wants to use me, to guide her through the surface world until she finds a fairly comfortable place and gets rid of me_. Hopefully "gets rid of" didn't mean "kills". _Or she means to steal the rest of my gold tonight. Or she may simply be tired of traveling alone_. There were plenty of advantages for Elkvein in this scenario. What were the advantages for Shakairra?

_An ally in a fight?_ Raiders were common on the road, and a lone rider-even one trained in combat since girlhood-was at risk. Double the numbers, double the protection. Have your partner be a sorceress...

"All right," Shakairra agreed. "What the hell? Let's try for Waterdeep first; we may be pleasantly surprised." _And if Tempus really is on my side, he'll help me kill her before she tries to kill me._


	14. the Storyteller

_Oh, Shakairra_, Gundar thought, counting the snowflakes cover the corpses staked to the ground around the city. _Would you weep if you knew what was happening in your land? I am not from here, yet I want to shed tears. _

"Are these criminals?" he asked the merchants he'd accompanied to Sundabar.

"Yes," said the leader of the caravan, a half-elf by the name of Varis. "Thieves, most like, faced with the choice of exile or death."

"The punishment for thievery is the loss of fingers or a hand."

"Back in Methrammar's day it was. Erevan's harsher to 'soiled folk'." Varis rolled his eyes at that.

Gundar took a closer look at the bodies dressed in rags. The Feast of the Moon had come and gone and the first snows of Nightal were trickling from the sky. Humans, tieflings, half-orcs, genasi, halflings, even dwarves and dragonborn were present among the dead, wearing white crowns of snow. None of Fey origin, though.

"What happens when an elf steals?"

"Loses fingers or a hand."

_Shakairra you would weep or you would rage, and for that you would die._ He found himself thinking of the tiefling a lot these days, as the stories coming from Luruar had grown darker and gorier with each stumble the new High Lord made. Emigrants poured out of the three cities, either forced out of their homes or willingly leaving to find a new land, betrayed by the nation that had grown a reputation of friendship and safety.

From under his robe and around his neck Gundar pulled out a bronze amulet gifted to him by a dwarf miner several months ago, right before he'd set his sights on Loudwater to right the wrongs done in his past life. It was the Soul Forger's hammer and anvil, Moradin's favorite tools.

Varis's elf wife Chaedi hissed. "You may want to hide that, my friend. Moradin has little love here."

"He has even less love for those who flinch away from danger." It was, in fact, one of Moradin's greatest laws among his followers, right up there with honoring traditions and seeking the treasures of the earth to create magnificent forms of art.

As the small caravan approached the walls of Sundabar, the gates opened. Gundar expected troops to greet them. Instead, they found a band of dwarves. Most of them carried the luggage they'd packed for a long journey upon their own shoulders, but others, such as elders, led mules. The burden of sorrow was clearly much heavier than any material possession.

"Hello," Gundar greeted, addressing the elders first. "What news from the city?"

Some dwarves ignored him, continuing their trudge. Others stopped and stared at the strange blue man. Others still recognized the pendant and showed signs of friendship with their hands. One of the elders stopped and smiled. Dwarves often lived to see two hundred years; this one must've been at least three hundred. He was bald, his great white beard brushing his knees and elaborately braided. He wore casual cloth and a thick robe against the chill, but on his mule Gundar could see a paladin's armor.

"I knew a deva once," the elder declared, his voice rough with age but strong enough to pause the small caravan. "Many, many years ago. An invoker of Moradin, who stood and died by my side and helped me lead an army against Many-Arrows."

Gundar let his mind wander to a haze of memories, most of them too foggy to be made out, but he knew he'd seen this dwarf's face before...

He smiled. "Kildrak the Platinum Hammer."

Kildrak laughed. "Gundar! I didn't think you would remember me!"

"You know this man?" a woman asked, coming up behind the elder. She had the same red hair the elder once possessed, and his square-like nose.

"This must be your daughter Helja," Gundar said. "When I saw her last, she was an infant."

Helja stared at Gundar and grinned, showing her yellow teeth. "The big blue man from Father's stories! Oh, I am such an _idiot_!"

"Gundar, if you're coming with us, we can't stay here," Varis said, giving the dwarves a wary eye.

Gundar turned to the half-elf. "Then I believe our time together has run its course. Thank you for your companionship."

"Thank you for yours, Gundar." Varis did not move to shake his hand; he'd learned that lesson the first time they met.

"You won't stay a while in the city to rest?" Chaedi asked as the wagon was rolled into Sundabar.

"Thank you, Chaedi, but I am quite refreshed." In truth, Gundar would've given much and more for a featherbed. He still had Captain Wil's seventy-five gold coins and the horse beneath him would sell for good money, too. But Moradin could not have given him a clearer sign to depart. "Good luck on your journeys."

Chaedi rolled her eyes, grabbed something from the wagon before it passed out of her reach, and handed it to him. "Here. I insist you take this."

It was a chicken pie. Chaedi made a delicious chicken pie and could be as stubborn as a dwarf in giving them away. Gundar knew better than to argue and graciously took it before he dismounted and joined the departing dwarven caravan.

"You are in poor condition to travel, old friend," Gundar commented as they made their way across the field of dead criminals.

"The new High Lord has been depriving us the coin for our hard work," Kildrak explained. "It was leave or starve."

"We make our way to Citadel Adbar," Helja added. "You're more than welcome to join us, Gundar."

"Thank you, Helja. Tell me, have you taken up your father's warhammer?"

She barked a laugh. "Only a couple times, I'm afraid. I find more joy in gems than blood."

"Nothing wrong with that, dearest," Kildrak replied. "Matter of fact, I prefer it. Gems are healthier for you than orcs. So, Gundar, how old are you this time?"

"I was reborn last Midwinter."

"Little less than a year? You're the biggest suckling babe I ever saw!"

He smiled. Kildrak had a habit of lightening people's moods, even in the darkest of times.

"So, any new tales from my big, blue friend?"

"Well...I recently concluded an adventure in Loudwater..."

Gundar left out the reason he'd gone to the Gray Vale, implying that he had happened upon Loudwater by chance. He spared no other details, coloring the fires of Shakairra's fury and battle prowess that sucked in all the other dwarves. He told of the power of the swordmage with a head of fire and the ferocity of the she-wolf that made children's eyes go wide, especially when Loudwater's wall exploded from firepowder.

"How did the goblins get _that_?" one of the boys demanded, only to be shushed by his mother.

"All in good time," Gundar promised. "When we found the goblin village..."

They clung to the story and gasped when Elkvein was revealed. "A dark elf?!" Helja echoed.

"A dark elf," Gundar confirmed. "Who saved Shakairra's life to save her own."

"Hm." Kildrak had a dark look. "When did she turn on you?"

"Never. She stayed true to the end. And when we came upon the 'Great One', the goblin mind behind the operation, she knocked him out with the butt of her staff so he could face his crimes in court rather than meet a grisly end."

"Where's the shaman now?"

"Serving a lifetime of servitude for the city of Loudwater."

"Why not kill him?"

"Because of what was behind the other door."

There was unanimous disgust for the goblins' practice of slavery when Gundar finished the story, as well as surprise. Goblins normally just killed everything in their path, but the self-proclaimed Great One carried a unique mind, forcing self-control on his warriors so they could trade people for weaponry.

"Now here you are helping an old man to the citadel," Kildrak laughed. "If you ask me, you should've stayed with your adventuring party, even that dark elf."

"Our paths led separate directions," Gundar pointed out. "Quarrel-Karn had an artifact to chase, and the women needed to find a home."

"Would've liked to meet that tiefling," a warrior on the other side of Gundar commented. "And the shifter. Strong lasses, you said?"

"Quite strong. Stronger than the swordmage."

"I would've put 'em to the test!"

Kildrak sighed. "The gloater's my young son, Darrak. Had him from my second wife after you died on us."

"And where is this wife now?"

Before Kildrak could answer, a shout came from the front. Gundar took out his rod and cast his eyes upward as an eagle with white feathers descended and landed on a branch next to Gundar. It was no mere albino; its eyes were black.

Someone had styled it as a messenger eagle. After relaxing his tensed muscles and returning the rod to his sash, Gundar took the scroll attached to its leg and handed it to Kildrak. The elder opened it and handed it back. "It's for you."

_To the Heroes of Loudwater,_ it read. _The city of Llorkh is in desperate need of you. A dangerous and powerful underground company has infiltrated the city and threatens the residents. We ask that you clear them out. Your reward will be 200 gold coins each and shall be proclaimed Heroes of the Gray Vale. _

"Don't even think about it," Kildrak scolded as Gundar rolled the letter.

"Think about what?"

"You're thinking of crumbling up that letter and ignoring it, aren't you?"

_The thought had crossed my mind_. "I am-"

"An invoker of Moradin, protector of his people, blah blah blah, you've given the speech before. But we dwarves don't need your protection half as much as this silly city of Llorkh. I got my whelps to look after me and mine. And you have to get more stories to tell."

"Father's right," Helja cut in. "The citadel ain't going anywhere. Go fix whatever mess the humans got themselves in, then come back and give us something to laugh about in our cups."

_She's certainly Kildrak's daughter,_ Gundar mused. "You're right, Helja. You and your brother look after your father for me. Make sure he doesn't do anything foolish like running into battle."

"I hacked up more orcs than you back then and I can do it now!" Kildrak raged as Gundar mounted his horse.

Gundar smiled before he left for another adventure. "As you say, old friend."


	15. the Summoned

_This city is rotten_, she thought, passing beneath the iron portcullis after waving the plea for help at the guards. One of them silently mounted a horse and led her through the city. After overhearing tales of a bandit king who ran a corrupt court and squeezed every penny out of his own citizens to create a haven for criminals, Rain got the impression that her invitation hadn't been politically sanctioned.

She did not worry too much about being robbed; her second horse had been killed by a pack of wolves, most of her belongings were raggedy and securely tied to the saddle, she had a city guard with her, and her very appearance seemed to create a gap in the crowd. She did not attract thieves, but she received plenty of suspicious and dark looks.

They dropped their horses off at a public stables and entered a tavern with sticky floors and foul smells. "Back room?" the fat, greasy bartender guessed.

When the guard nodded, the bartender jerked his thumb to a closed door behind him. It was a storage area, filled with barrels of ale and bottles of whiskey. The guard opened a trap door on the floor for her. "This tunnel leads to the wizard's tower. He's the one that sent for you."

"Does anyone know I'm going there?" Rain asked, sliding into the dirty tunnel.

"Nope." He closed the door.

The tower was the second-tallest building in the city, soaked with mud and ice and snow of Deepwinter, what the fancy folk in their scrolls called Hammer. An apprentice greeted her when Rain climbed the ladder at the end of the tunnel and opened the tower's trap door. She was a little human in her adolescent years. Like most humans of the Gray Vale she had fair skin, blond hair, and hazel eyes. "You must be the she-wolf. Come in."

Wary, Rain climbed out of the tunnel and immediately scanned the scene for exits. There was a door behind her and the one beneath her, but not so much as a crack in the walls on this level, which had sparse furniture and decorations. Really, the only thing down here were shelves of books against the wall.

"If you'll follow me," the girl said, leading Rain to a staircase. Each level of the tower had one room plus sometimes a closet or water chamber. They passed a kitchen, two bedchambers (one much more lavishly decorated than the other), two libraries, a lab of sorts, a room full of messenger birds, and an audience chamber, where Rain expected they would stop. The human kept going until they reached the top level. Rain's legs were tight and her breathing heavy when the girl opened the door to the wizard's private study. More books lined the shelves, there were glass windows instead of walls for half the room, a large desk awash in papers, and three old faces with a new.

"And our last hero emerges," the wizard greeted, an eladrin dressed in elaborate robes that matched the vibrant sapphire orbs of his eyes. Long blond hair that wrapped around his shoulders was just beginning to silver, though he looked like he could wield any of the wands and longswords decorating the walls with ease. Like all eladrin he was tall with pointed ears and an otherworldly air about him, as if he was above the chaotic normalcy of everyday life.

Quarrel-Karn was sprawled on one of the cushioned chairs and looked up lazily when Rain entered. Gundar was seated in the other chair, unmoving with his back straight. Shakairra was wandering close to the walls, examining the books and artifacts. "Well, we're all here, Riardon. What will you have of us?"

Riardon looked past the four of them at the door. "Eliza, close the door on your way out."

"Yesssir," the little human replied before she left. The doors closed with a heavy bang.

"You'll first have my apology," Riardon said after a moment. "For the secrecy and urgency I've put on you. If anyone else knew what we were about to do I would be a head on a spike right now."

"And what are we about to do?" Shakairra asked. "You mentioned an underground company and two hundred gold coins. That tells me this may be out of the reach of four travelers who happened to cross paths when goblins attacked."

Riardon crossed his fingers atop his desk. "Do you believe in fate?"

"No."

"No," Rain agreed.

"Yes," said the two men.

Shakairra rolled her eyes, and Rain noticed the bit of bone hanging from around her neck, gleaming in the light against her faded leather and chainmail. _She still wears a god's symbol, but denies he has any impact on her life. Stubborn tiefling. _

Riardon smiled. "I find the idea of fate endlessly fascinating. While I do believe there are greater things we have yet to accomplish, I recognize the humble beginnings of such greatness when I see it."

"Is that why you're here talking to us instead of running around the Feywild with the other eladrin?" Shakairra asked. "I thought your people found the squabbles of humans to be well beneath you."

"They are minor in the face of the greater scheme of things," he agreed. "Yet Corellon asks that we be ever vigilant against evil, and what sort of wizard would I be if I did not uproot the evil on my own doorstep?"

"A pretty lousy one."

"Easy, Shakairra," Gundar said. "Riardon the wizard has asked for our help. Let him speak."

Riardon stood and looked out the window. "I'm certain you've all heard the tales of this self-proclaimed bandit king, yes?"

"Another one of Llorkh's fabulous leaders," Quarrel-Karn snorted.

"Brandis is his name," Shakairra added. "A half-elf from either Luskan or Waterdeep, probably exiled. He took advantage of the incompetent rulers of Llorkh in recent years and has been the city's most powerful influence for the past two years, extracting heavy tolls on trade routes and letting crime prosper so long as it doesn't affect his people, who have to pay a yearly fine to stay in his guild, run favors, have considerable influence over the city, the works."

Quarrel-Karn snorted again. "Show-off."

Shakairra shrugged.

Riardon turned from the window and smiled. "Perhaps with time you could be running this city, Shakairra."

She shook her head. "I have no interest in ruling Llorkh."

"Too close to Luruar?"

She narrowed her golden eyes.

Riardon held up his hands in a calm defensive manner. "I have many friends in Silverymoon and Sundabar. A tiefling in the ranks is a good conversation starter, especially after your successes in the Nether Mountains. But in any case, I digress. Your information is accurate, Shakairra, and we have suffered at the hands of King Brandis long enough. We need him...taken care of...as quickly and quietly as possible."

"And who will reign when he is gone?" Gundar asked. "You?"

"No. Eliza is Brandis's daughter. She ran from his underground court for fear of her life and wishes to mend the city."

Rain thought of the young human and shuddered to think of what the taint of civilization would do to such an innocent. "Your city needs an experienced leader, not a little girl."

"I will be there to advice her." Riardon smiled again. "And have no fear, Rain. She is wise beyond her years."

"So we kill Brandis," Quarrel-Karn said, "Show his body to the city so everyone knows he's dead, and your apprentice rules?"

"Essentially."

"Why do you need us?" Rain asked. This didn't feel right, though maybe it was just because she was in a city. "You're a wizard. You could handle Brandis yourself."

"Brandis has another wizard and warlock in his power that combined are more powerful than me."

Shakairra gave him a look. "So you're throwing us at them because...?"

"Because you have a sorceress."

Shakairra was very still.

Quarrel-Karn frowned. "How do you know about Elkvein?"

"I scried on each of you before sending the eagles and was quite surprised to find Shakairra traveling with a drow sorceress. Where did you hide her?"

"None of your business," she snapped.

"Fair enough." From beneath a pile of papers Riardon pulled out a map. He crossed the room and gave it to Shakairra. "This is a map of the city's sewer system, where Brandis lives. He has carved more tunnels in his time here that I do not know of but should be simple to navigate. If Brandis's body is in the town square by highsun tomorrow, you each get your two hundred gold. That includes Elkvein."

Shakairra snatched the map. "You're quite accepting of a drow for an eladrin."

"Make no mistake, Shakairra," Riardon warned. "I would sooner see her dead. _No one_ is to know she was here."

_You would sooner see the tiefling dead, too, _Rain thought as Shakairra growled, "I give no promises."

They followed Shakairra out and down to the audience chamber, where she opened the map. Rain peaked over her shoulder and found a basic, geometric system of sewers with plenty of room for added tunnels.

Shakairra looked back at the three of them. "Do we really want to do this?"

"The city needs our help," Gundar said. "I don't see any other option."

"Rain?"

"The shifter clans aren't going anywhere," she said. She didn't want to get into the real reason she was here, that she had crumpled up the letter and had been heartbeats away from throwing it in the river when she saw the White Wolf of her elf tribe walking down the path towards her, then past her, going straight to Llorkh. The spirits wanted her here, but why? Why this filthy, corrupt city? She was born to protect the wild, not people.

"Sparky?"

"I need the money," he confessed. "I need to hire a team to go to Netheril with me and search the Shallow Sea, and that's a lot harder than you might think."

Shakairra pointed to one entrance to the sewers. "I suggest we go in through here, from outside the city."

"Why?"

"So we can bring Elkvein with us."


	16. the Sorceress

The barrel was small and full of splinters and smelled of sour wine, and it forced Elkvein's feet in her pointed ears. Her legs were asleep and her ass was burning, but it was still better than being shot at, and it was warm, protecting her against the harsh winter winds.

Shakairra had smuggled her into the city atop the horse and left her in the stables with the two beasts, repeatedly pointing out that Elkvein didn't have to be here. No one knew her part in Loudwater's rescue. But it was either come along or spend the next few days camping on the edge of the city, trying not to get caught by hunters and lumberjacks and waiting for Shakairra to come back a hero or a corpse. Elkvein hated waiting.

So instead, once Shakairra had knocked on the barrel twice to tell her the coast was clear, Elkvein pushed the top off and struggled out of the barrel, rolling around in the hay until she was free. She closed the barrel back up, took her rag-covered staff from her black mare, and followed Shakairra and the guard from the shadows and alleys. After they disappeared into the tavern, she peaked in the window and saw the guard emerge from the back room and sit at a table with another guard. Quarrel-Karn followed some time later, and Rain was last, disappearing into the back room and not returning.

Elkvein crept behind the building and saw a window, though it led to a bedroom instead of wherever the group had disappeared to. She climbed into the building and peaked out the door to a hallway that led to the main room and had doors all the way down. Elkvein had been on the surface long enough to know that no one would be going down this hall until people got drunk and had to stay the night in one of these rooms. Pressing herself against the splintered wall, she slowly made her way to the edge of the room, where there were four city guards killing time until the heroes returned, the bartender wiping the counter, and a sorry drunk drooling in the corner.

_Why did I leave the Underdark for this place?_ she wondered, wrinkling her nose at the stink of the place. _Oh, right, I was gonna be killed. _

The door to the back room was on this side of the bar, but she had to get past the owner and couldn't risk any of the guards spotting her.

Smiling as an idea took spark, Elkvein sent a magical tendril to one of the guards. It wasn't sorcery she used; this was something much darker, inherent in her nature as a drow, part of being touched by the goddess Lolth.

It started as a flicker, then it consumed the guard. Harmless purple faery fire, what the drow called darkfire, covered his body. The guard yelped and shot to his feet as his friends shouted at him to hit the deck, roll it off, dammit! The bartender grabbed a pitcher of water and ran to the rescue, not noticing the dark elf slip behind him and to the storage room.

The darkfire would cease any second, and hopefully none of them knew it was the work of a drow. Elkvein looked around the barrels and boxes until she found the trap door and jumped into the tunnel.

She waited a couple seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darkness and then continued. Secret passageways were not unknown to her. Powerful drow used them all the time to send secret messages or summon people of note or escape danger. Usually they were riddled with twists and turns and forks and secret doors, sometimes even traps. This one was very basic, just a straight line to its destination.

Elkvein climbed a wooden, splintery ladder and opened the trap door an inch, just enough to see that the room was empty before she climbed out and silently closed it. She took one look at the walls and knew this was a wizard's tower. Only those paper-loving fools would have a whole chamber dedicated to books and live in circular walls with rooms stacked atop each other.

Footsteps and voices echoed down the stairs. Elkvein hurried over and stood beside the entrance, tense even when she recognized the voices.

"...will not be enough to hire a whole team, Sparky."

"I'm hoping to find watersoul genasi who share my cause."

"You'll stick out like sore thumbs in Netheril, especially if you're traveling with a group like that. Just hire one person."

"It'll take years to search to sea with _one_ other person."

"You'll be dead with a team. Two hundred's just enough to convince someone to travel with you into Netheril and risk drowning in a little ocean for a myth."

"It is not a myth!"

"Myth."

"If we could focus on the task at hand," Gundar intercepted. "How many men do we think King Brandis has?"

"He has the wizard and warlock and there'll probably be at least a dozen armed men scattered throughout the sewers."

"I doubt there'll be any archers," Rain added as they entered the room, passing by Elkvein. "In the dark it's easy to mistake a friend for a foe."

Elkvein smiled. "Or a foe for a friend."

Quarrel-Karn jumped and unsheathed his sword as Shakairra gave her an annoyed look. "I told you to wait in the stables."

Elkvein shrugged. "I got bored."

"We need to leave this place separately," Rain announced. "Apart, we're not of much notice, but if we're all seen together Brandis will be warned, especially with a drow."

Elkvein pulled her dark wool scarf out from her neck and rewrapped it until only her eyes remained. "Anything showing that shouldn't?"

"Pull your hood up," Quarrel-Karn instructed, sheathing his sword. "Meet at the sewers in an hour?"

They gathered at the stinking opening to the iron tunnel that was out of sight of the city's walls, thanks to the hill it was carved in. It had felt strange walking in the open in a surface city. Elkvein felt naked and exposed, but did her best to appear confident as she walked out of the city gates.

She wrinkled her nose and kept her scarf up as Rain bashed down the iron bars guarding the entrance. Unlike the ancient sewers used by the goblins, there were no torches here, but every now and again there was a hole up above where sunlight would peak through to illuminate the shit that sloshed its way out of the city. Lucky for the adventurers, there were ledges on both sides of the sewer just wide enough to a person to walk and hopefully not fall into the river below. Every now and again a crumbling stone bridge would arc over the river and link the ledges, but they never looked wholly stable.

Shakairra had them split up: Quarrel-Karn and his shining sword with herself and Elkvein on the right side, Rain and Gundar on the left. It was not long before their presence was noticed.

Elkvein saw the men standing guard where the sewer forked into a tunnel and tapped Shakairra's shoulder four times, once for each guard. Before she could pass the message on one of those guards shouted.

Elkvein sent raw magic from her body through her staff, channeling it out to the nearest guard. The shock wave of sound and thunder slammed into him, splitting his ribs and spine and throwing him into his comrades. Gundar then sent one of his crystalline orbs into the other three.

Quarrel-Karn glared at her. "Nice."

"He'd already shouted," she defended as footsteps echoed around them. "It's gonna get dark."

"Wha-hey!"

Drawing upon her dark roots, Elkvein summoned a cloud of darkness over herself, covering herself and Shakairra but was not large enough to conceal Quarrel-Karn or the other two, which was fine by her. The tiefling was blinded, and nobody could see within the cloud except Elkvein.

Rain was wrong. There were plenty of archers that ran down from the tunnel right behind the swordsmen. If Rain hadn't had such a huge shield she and Gundar would've become pin pillows. The same fate would've been true for Quarrel-Karn, if Shakairra hadn't burst from the cloud, shoved him into the shit-river, and raised her own shield.

Elkvein did a quick count: four swordsmen, four archers. Eight against five.

_Pretty damn good odds,_ she thought as the swordsman charged two by two. The frontrunner slammed into Shakairra's shield only to be impaled on her trident. Quarrel-Karn exploded from the river, a great fire rising from the slosh, slashing his sword and knocking the legs off the second guard. Elkvein's cloud of darkness faded and Shakairra held out the butt of her trident to the swordmage. He took it and swung onto the ledge as Elkvein tried shooting lightning through her staff at the crossbowmen, but they were using the corners of the tunnel for cover.

Across the sludge, one of the swordsmen was down and Rain had a nasty cut on her shoulder. Gundar maneuvered his rod around her and shot a searing ray of light at the last swordsman before firing another crystal orb at the crossbowmen. It didn't shatter until it got past the jut of corner. Elkvein heard their cries and smiled.

"Charge!" Shakairra ordered. Quarrel-Karn and Rain rushed to obey with the tiefling at their heels, urging them on. Elkvein and Gundar hung back, moving at a slower pace. By the time the invoker and sorceress arrived, everything was a bloody mess.

Shakairra sniffed. "Yeesh, Sparky. You're getting a bath as soon as we're done."

"Your own fault," he accused, wiping a glob of shit off of his chest as the fires on his head burned what was on his head. "That'll teach you to save my life."

Rain was peering down the tunnel, roughly carved by amateur pickaxes and held up by bricks and beams. Bright green primal magic glowed from her wound, stitching up the skin until it was newer than a babe's. Elkvein joined her, squinting into the darkness. "Anything?" Shakairra asked.

Elkvein shook her head. "Not that I can see."

"All right. This thing's wide enough for two people to walk abreast. Rain and I will take front-"

"No," Quarrel-Karn objected. "I'm taking front."

"You don't have a shield."

"There are other forms of protection."

Shakairra tapped her fingers against the hilt of her trident. "Fine. You take front with Rain if you have a death wish. Elkvein and Gundar will be in the back, I'll be in the middle. Try not to shoot us with crystals or thunder."

"No promises," Elkvein replied, to her immediate regret when Rain gave her a wary look and Quarrel-Karn a glare. _Ah, well. They should fear me, anyway._

In that formation they walked down the tunnel, which got more solid and less rugged with each step. Eventually torches on the walls made Quarrel-Karn's gleaming sword unnecessary, which was good. Elkvein felt like holding a giant sign over her head that read, "Out to kill you" whenever he had that thing on.

Eventually they came upon a T-intersection with two guards, both facing away from them. Quarrel-Karn raised his sword, only to be pulled back by Shakairra, who put her finger to her lips. She turned to Elkvein, eyeing the knife at her hip, then to Rain.

Both women nodded in understanding. Elkvein pushed past Quarrel-Karn, sliding her knife out of its sheath, and crept down the hallway at a steady pace, Rain right beside her. Elkvein didn't even hear the bones dangling off the savage's clothing, and there was a strange glitter in her yellow eyes that made the drow uncomfortable.

When they were two feet away from the guards Elkvein leaned her staff against the wall, took a step, and quickly examined her target for weaknesses. He wore leather and chainmail, just like Shakairra, though his looked cheaper and weaker. He also had a helmet, but it was too small, exposing a sliver of his neck.

Elkvein grabbed him by the back of his leather jerkin and shoved the knife in that little sliver. Before his friend could sound the alarm, Rain buried her axehead in his chest.

As the drow pulled the bodies out of sight, Rain peaked out into the hall. Checked left, checked right. She turned back to the group and motioned for them to come up. By the time Elkvein had found the silver coins in her victim's pockets and tucked them away everyone was at the intersection.

"The right leads back to sewers," Rain reported in a low voice as Shakairra consulted the map. "Left continues as tunnel."

The tiefling nodded. "Left it is."

They returned to their formation and continued. It was a long while and no guards, just twists and turns and a few other forks in the road. Shakairra consulted her map and picked the direction. Elkvein wondered if the tiefling had gotten them truly lost when they saw a door up ahead with two guards. The guards were not human.

"Half-orcs," Gundar grumbled, and Elkvein thought she saw true anger on the deva's face before it vanished.

"Half human," Quarrel-Karn pointed out. "Don't hate them for their race, hate them for their crimes."

Shakairra frowned. "When did you get so compassionate?"

"When you stopped me from killing a child. Tends to change one's perspective. How do we get through?"

"We could charge," Rain whispered.

"They have crossbows."

"We have shields. And a sorcerer and invoker."

Elkvein and Gundar exchanged an interested look.

"They're probably guarding the king," Rain continued. "Or the wizard. Or warlock. Someone big."

"Right, so we have to kill them quickly and get through that door if we want the element of surprise," Quarrel-Karn agreed.

Shakairra nodded and spelled out the plan. Minutes later, Elkvein crouched on the dirt ground with Gundar standing over her. She pointed her staff, he raised his rod.

Lightning brought down the first guard. A divine ray destroyed the second. The first grunted, the second screamed.

After a couple heartbeats, the peak-hole on the door slid open. "What the hell's-"

Rain bashed the door down and charged into the room, followed by Quarrel-Karn and Shakairra with Elkvein and Gundar on their heels. The room was a wizard's chamber, a large oval with bookshelves covering every inch of wall. Lounges so he could entertain guests were stationed in front of the large oak desk. On either side of the desk was a half-orc guard, each with the gray skin and broad jaws of the orcs and prominent lower canine teeth (though they were a far cry from the tusks of full-blooded orcs). In every other way they were human with dark hair and eyes, leather and chainmail, and longswords. Sprawled on the floor was a human guard, which Quarrel-Karn quickly took care of.

The wizard was a half-elf. Sturdier than an elf and more slender than a human, she had the tapered ears of her Fey origin and the clothing of her rich city human origin, her dark hair done up in a bun with pearls winking at the invaders.

She frowned as Rain and the half-orcs charged each other. At the last minute Rain gave a mighty leap, a sudden gust of wind dripping with primal energy carrying her over the heads of the guards so she landed atop the wizard's desk. As she brought her hammer down, the half-elf raised her hand, and a glowing shield of arcane energy blocked the attack, shattering upon impact as the wizard rolled out of her chair and took out a wand from her silk robes. As Quarrel-Karn and one of the half-orcs crossed swords, the wizard's wand glowed. With a flick of her wrist, a crackling orb of soared across the room until it landed on Shakairra's head. It was very similar to Gundar's crystal orbs, only when this one exploded, bolts of lightning burst out in all directions, even getting the half-orc as Shakairra yelped and Gundar gasped. Quarrel-Karn managed to slip out of the way. Elkvein did not move, did not attempt to dodge away. Lightning sang in her blood; what was a little crackle on the outside?

Shakairra's dark hair clouded around her horns when it was over and she staggered to her feet. Quarrel-Karn slashed down at the dazed half-orc, who managed to block the attack. His buddy came behind the swordmage, but Quarrel-Karn was too quick. He somersaulted out of the way and stacked the two guards so he was only dealing with one at a time. Elkvein kept against the wall as Shakairra got involved and jabbed with her trident, nailing a half-orc in the shoulder. That just seemed to infuriate him as he turned and bore down on her with his longsword.

Rain charged the wizard again. She never got close. With a flick of the half-elf's wand Rain and half of the study was covered in thick webs humming with magic.

"I thought that was just a drow thing," Elkvein called as the half-elf readied another spell.

The wizard paused and stared at her. "No, it's a wizard thing." She had a queer smile. "Where I'm from it's customary for combatants to know the name of their opponent before they die."

"Call me Elkvein."

"Keira." A shimmering arrow shot out of her wand.

Elkvein recognized that one, too. Acid arrows always left a trail of green, glowing liquid that hissed when it touched the ground. She dodged out of the way and slapped the ground with the butt of her staff, sending a powerful clap of thunder at Keira, hoping the tremor would rattle some of the web and free Rain.

It did not. The shifter was as stuck as she was before and was having a hard time breaking free, but Keira was blown back into the wall, slamming against the books.

"My lady!" one of the half-orcs cried, and broke away from his sword fight with Quarrel-Karn to charge Elkvein with ferocious speed. Elkvein jerked away from his blade; any slower and he would've cleaved off her head instead of leaving a slash across her chest, creating a gaping hole through her cloak and dress underneath.

The half-orc should've taken the time to notice the arcane mark glowing orange against his skin. Quarrel-Karn vanished, only to reappear right behind the half-orc and collect his head with a sweep of his sword. "Keep on the wizard; we've got this."

_I noticed,_ Elkvein thought darkly. _He let that half-orc go, hoping it'd kill me. _

She momentarily turned her attention away from him as Keira struggled to her feet, noticed Rain was almost free from the webs, and held out her hand. Flames erupted from her palm, searing web and skin alike. Rain was engulfed in fire, but she did not scream. Instead, the sounds coming from the flames sounded more like furious growls.

Gundar took advantage of Kaira's distraction and fired one of his searing rays. The wizard howled, the flames stopped, and Elkvein cringed at the sight of Rain.

She'd managed to get her shield up to block some of the damage, but all the fine fur and tanned skin on the right side of her face and chest was charred and smoking, like an overcooked sausage. For a moment, it looked like she was going to faint. Instead, Rain curled her lips back into a hideous snarl, gave that bone-chilling howl of hers, and charged. Elkvein liked to think that the last thing Kaira the wizard saw was her own horrified reflection off of Rain's hammer.

"Elkvein, look out!"

Shakairra's cry came too late. Steel bit through dark flesh, from her right shoulder to her left kidney. Pain leaped from her back and forced a cry from Elkvein's lips. _Idiot! Always keep an eye behind you! _

Then she was on the ground, the warm dirt kissing her cheek. The clang of steel swelled in her head and began to fade like the light, like reality...

Until a firm hand found her back and a strange magic surged through her body. It wasn't arcane, like that of her blood, or divine. This stemmed from the earth itself, she could feel it, strengthening her bones and invigorating her breath until it was all she could do not to leap up and run around like a crazy person.

Elkvein rolled onto her back and stared up at Rain. The blackened wounds on her face glowed with brilliant green light like fresh grass, retreating as the wounds sealed.

To Elkvein's astonishment, the half-orc was still alive, though Quarrel-Karn and Shakairra must've each given him half a hundred hacks. Rain had dropped her hammer, so when she stood she slammed her shield into him, knocking him into Quarrel-Karn's sword.

Shakairra huffed and looked down at Elkvein. "You all right?"

Elkvein examined herself. Her clothing was in ruins, leaving nothing above the waist to be imagined (_huh; so that's how Quarrel-Karn blushes_), but there was no blood, no cuts, nothing. "Fine. Nice work, Rain."

"Good, and Rain's taking care of herself. Sparky?"

He cracked his neck. "Never better."

"Blue?"

"I am unhurt."

"Good." Shakairra pulled out a canteen of water, took a swallow, and dumped the rest atop her head to tame her crazy, puffy hair. "One down, two to go."

"There may be clues in this study that could lead to the location of the warlock and Brandis," Gundar pointed out.

"Fair point. I'll check her body. Gundar and Elkvein, check the shelves. No, just Gundar. Elkvein, there's a wardrobe in the corner. Sparky, the desk. Rain, guard the door."

_Orders come real easy to her_, Elkvein noticed as she pulled herself to her feet, ignoring Rain's outstretched hand. _What could she have done if she was drow? _

The thought nibbled on Elkvein's mind as she opened the wardrobe and shuffled through Kaira's elaborate robes. Much as it killed her to ignore the silks and satins, Elkvein quickly shrugged into an old cotton dress and a wool robe to go over it. Then she uncovered the jewelry in the box in the corner and stuffed her pockets...and felt a tingling in her fingers.

"Hurry up, I think I hear footsteps," Rain warned.

"From where?" Shakairra asked, digging through Kaira's pockets.

"Everywhere."

"Best to face them here," Quarrel-Karn said, shuffling through the desk. "Choke point."

"Rain, close and lock the door," Shakairra ordered, pulling out a rumpled sheet of paper.

"Did you find something?" Gundar asked as Elkvein pressed her palm against the back of the wardrobe.

"I'm...not sure. It does us no good here, that's for sure."

Elkvein tapped the wood. It was not hollow. She pulled dresses and robes and cloaks from their hangers and tossed them into the room.

"They're almost at the door," Rain warned, setting the bars and locks in place.

Elkvein threw out the last of the clothing and smiled at the magical runes etched into the wood. "Sparky!"

The swordmage scowled as he came over. "Don't call me-whoa." He brushed his fingers against the etchings and smiled. "Scratch that; call me whatever the hell you want. Shakairra!"

The tiefling stood over the body. "What?"

"We found a portal."

Elkvein gave him a look. "'We'?"

He shrugged. "Fine. Elkvein found a portal."

Shakairra ran to his side. "Can you open it?"

Rubbing his fingers together, Quarrel-Karn stepped into the wardrobe and touched the runes in sequence. Each one glowed with his touch, until he stepped back and the entire back of the wardrobe was glowing like the gates of heaven.

"Where does it go?" Rain asked.

"Do we care?" Shakairra demanded.

The warden ran over and leaped into the portal as the first of the reinforcements banged on the door.

Elkvein gathered up the clothes as Gundar followed the shifter. Shakairra frowned. "Elkvein, you can't take them all."

"I'm not; I just don't want to leave a trail."

"Shakairra, come on," Quarrel-Karn urged.

The tiefling stepped into the portal as Elkvein gathered up the last of the clothing in her arms and went through with Quarrel-Karn behind her.


	17. the (Crappy) Diplomat

The portal led to a throne room. Built of brick like the tunnels, it was most likely underground, with no windows and no doors. No exits or entrances of any kind except the portal behind them and the two others on the wall, marked by the runes carved into the stone. The room had nowhere near the majesty of Silverymoon or Sundabar's throne rooms, but it was large enough to hold a small court, and the stone chair against the wall had a lush silk pillow and gems studded into the back and arms.

The walls were undecorated, but the two long tables in the room had delicacies from the entire west side of Faerun. Roasted, filleted, baked, even raw seafood from the Dragon Coast, Cormyr, and Waterdeep. Fresh-caught deer and boar of the Southwood and Evereska. Steamed and roasted vegetables from the surrounding farms sprinkled with spices from as far as the Moonshae Isles.

The room was swamped with people. Some dressed like courtesans in silks and robes. Others didn't bother to pretend to be anything other than themselves: thieves and thugs under the bandit king's protection. Those, at least, Shakairra had an inkling of respect for. She made note of the guards on the walls, half-orcs all, with chainmail, boiled leather, longswords, and crossbows. They stiffened at their entrance, as did many of the "courtesans" who were eating at the tables. But the man who Shakairra had eyes for was calm as a flat lake.

King Brandis was seated at the throne dressed in chainmail that glimmered in the torchlight. He was a half-elf, with pointed ears and a thin golden beard (elves couldn't grow facial hair). Strapped to his bejeweled belt was a falchion on the left, a dagger on the right. His ornamentations were simple and elaborate, but what caught Shakairra's attention was the sapphire mark across the left side of his face.

She tapped her trident against her calf. "How did a Spellscarred half-elf get so many followers?"

Brandis opened his palms, licking butter from his lips. "Magic is a thing to be feared and obeyed."

"Your wizard friend learned otherwise."

"Really? I see quite a bit of magic in your group, Shakairra Romazi."

She scowled. "You scried."

"Kaira scried. When Riardon takes an interest in something, so do I."

Shakairra studied the blazing blue mark across Brandis's face as his courtesans whispered of the drow at her side and the queerness of the group. The Spellplague was the result of the goddess Mystra's death. Almost a century ago, during the Year of Blue Fire, wild magic raged through the landscape, altering everything from flesh and stone to magic and space, destroying entire buildings and creating strange towers and spires overnight and twisting the people in its path into grotesque forms. Even places and people nowhere near the Spellplague or separated from it by decades were affected, though now less drastically.

"I thought throwing a dozen guards and a wizard in your path would be enough to kill at least a couple of you," Brandis continued. "But as impressive as your survival is, surely you can see now, you're outnumbered and outmatched."

"We don't care about your flock of geese," Shakairra retorted, eyeing the plain weapons and the people bundled in silk who were hiding even more, and hoping her companions would back her up on this. "We just need to kill you and your warlock, and we're done. Do you really think your pack of criminals will mind? Half of them have probably tried to kill you already."

"Let's think this through logically, Romazi," said another voice, one from the shadows. "Say you're right, that we let you kill our king and myself. The courtesans will then kill you before tearing each other apart for the criminal crown. You die, and the city of Llorkh gets a new bandit king."

"Show yourself warlock, and say that to our face," Quarrel-Karn threatened.

The warlock stepped from the shadows, and hatred sprouted within Shakairra.

"Hello, Romazi," the tiefling greeted. "My name is Leucis Fear."

She shouldn't have been surprised; it was a rare person who heard the word warlock and did not think "tiefling", thanks to the pacts made by their ancestors. He was pale for a tiefling, with only a hint of red in his skin. Unlike Shakairra, who had curled horns, his were two great spires sprouting from his head, dark violet hair cascading behind them. His eyes were two ebony orbs, like pools of blood at night. He wore crimson silks and glossy black furs, perhaps of wolf or bear.

Shakairra quickly hid her shock. "Leucis _Fear_? What weakness are you trying to hide with a crappy name?"

Leucis shrugged. "I admit, it's cheesy. But it's catchier than Leucis Zolfura."

"You actually wasted your time tracking which dead house you belong to?" Shakairra asked, truly amazed. She was a history nut, but that was one thing she hadn't been interested in: tracing her bloodlines through centuries to find which damned noble family of Bael Turath the Romazis had sprouted from. It affected her not.

House Zolfura, on the other hand, did. Those nobles of the ancient city Vor Rukoth had mastered elemental magic, particularly ice and fire. Wizards and other masters of the arcane had made the house one of the greatest and most powerful until Bael Turath's fall, and their descendants were forces to be reckoned with.

"I didn't need to. It's in my blood."

"Brandis, Leucis, there is no need to spill blood," Gundar declared. "Peacefully surrender now, dismantle your court, and leave Llorkh forever. You will not hear from us again."

"And if I don't?" Brandis asked, wiping his fingers on a napkin.

"If you do not leave by highsun tomorrow we will return and remove you from Llorkh. Permanently." He said it so calm and matter-of-fact, as if telling Brandis, "We're going to the tavern for lunch." It actually made Shakairra pause and reconsider the deva for a moment.

Brandis, however, was not as affected. "This from a big blue man. Let me counteroffer. Riardon offered you each two hundred gold pieces? I'll give each of you two hundred _platinum_ if you leave right now. Shakairra and...Elkvein, was it? You two ladies can stay and be a part of my organization if you so choose. More gold will pass through your fingers each day than most highborn ladies see in a month, and you won't ever have to go through town wearing that ridiculous scarf. You'll be carried in a bejeweled litter if you so choose. You will be a lady in your own right. And who knows? With time you may even become my queen."

_Ah, shit_, Shakairra thought. _We never should've brought the dark elf. _

Elkvein stepped forward so she was shoulder-to-shoulder with Shakairra, who couldn't place the look on her face.

Lightning flashed from her staff, gunning for Brandis. One of the guards intercepted himself and got nailed in the chest. Elkvein raised her staff and slammed it to the ground. Thunder rolled beneath their feet, ripping up the floor and people as well.

She glared at the bandit king over the pile of corpses. "If I want your gold, Brandis, I'll take it."

_Ha! I knew we should've brought her!_

Two guards whipped out crossbows and fired. Suddenly Rain was in front of them, holding high her shield. Quarrel-Karn streamed past her. "I call Brandis!"

"Elkvein, Gundar, stay behind Rain," Shakairra ordered as the courtesans either rushed to get out of the room or drew their swords. The cowards, a good half of the room, activated the runes on the walls as Quarrel-Karn had done in the wardrobe until blinding light streamed from the magic doorways.

From his robes Leucis pulled out a black rod engraved with glowing red runes. Before he could get off a curse, Shakairra charged him, bulling through two guards to get to him. He jumped out of the path of her trident and got nicked when she slashed after him. He responded with rivers of fire pouring from his wand, cascading over Shakairra. Normally, she wouldn't mind fire; resilience to flames had been an added bonus to the pacts her ancestors had made. But this was too hot, too strong for her not to feel pain. Even after the flames passed bits of her boiled leather was still afire. That she didn't mind.

What she _did_ mind were the two soldiers that came upon her, one a half-orc guard, the other an armored courtesan brandishing a greataxe. Shakairra loved going against axes; they were heavy and cumbersome and slowed the opponent down. Axe-man was easy to get rid of. Not so much the half-orc. Shakairra raised her shield against his attack as she stuck her trident through the axe-man, then had to quickly block his next move as he furiously pressed the attack, pushing her to the center of the room were the fight was thickest. She met each of his blocks with either shield or trident, but couldn't find a gap for an attack of her own until he drew a line of blood across her cheek.

Hellfire raged within her at the smell of blood, and for a second the world burned away. The madness passed, Shakairra blinked, and the half-orc was a falling charred corpse and she was looking around for the warlock.

Leucis seemed pleasantly surprised. "Thirty-seven years I've been seeking other tieflings of my house. I'm sorry to see such a worthy distant cousin on the wrong end of battle." He vanished.

He reappeared behind one of the upturned tables, but he seemed somewhat insubstantial as he fired a bolt of dark, crackling magic. She blocked with her shield and stabbed a knife-wielding courtesan who'd strayed to close in the back while she was at it. After a quick look around, she smiled with relief and a strange, fierce pride. Quarrel-Karn was crossing swords with Brandis, who left fingers of blue flames at his heels. Gundar and Elkvein rained searing light and thunder from the back, protected by Rain, who was a wall against the wave of soldiers. A snarling, black-scaled, glowing green wall. It was difficult to count people with everyone moving and trying not to die, but where they had been five against twenty-four (including Brandis and Leucis and all the cowards), they were now six against nine, thanks in most part to Elkvein and the angel Gundar had summoned in the back of the room, slamming her way through the guards with her fiery hammer. Six against eight.

Shakairra lowered her shield and had to search again for Leucis. That was the annoying thing about warlocks: if they moved around enough the shadows stuck to them to make it hard to see. Shakairra liked to think it was the devils, ancient spirits, or abominations of the Far Realm clinging to their knees, reminding them that they got their powers solely from the pacts made with them, not through study and hard work like wizards.

When she found him again, lurking in a dark corner of the room, he waved his rod, and suddenly she was surrounded by darkness and cold, so very, very cold. She did not recognize this spell, but it seemed awfully similar to Elkvein's cloud of darkness. Shakairra tucked and rolled out of the cloud, right into the thick of battle with Rain, the guards, and Gundar's angel.

One of the guards noticed Shakairra and slashed down with her sword. She blocked with the shield as the angel noticed an opening and slammed her hammer into her side. Ribs cracked and a lung exploded as the guard fell and Shakairra took several steps back to retreat from the intensity, once again looking for the warlock. He was by one of the portals, brushing runes with his fingers.

Shakairra charged with her trident, and this time she landed her blow. Unfortunately, when her trident bit through silk it felt like she was jamming it against a wall instead of flesh. Leucis smiled as his skin glowed against the attack.

_He's put up some magical shield. _Shakairra shrugged. "I'm sure if I hit you enough something'll happen." She grabbed him by the collar and threw him to the ground, then kicked him. His flesh flared with magic, so she kicked him again, and crunched two, maybe three ribs under the heel of her boot. Leucis's screams were sweet music to her ears as she took her trident and brought it down on his head. He dropped the rod and grabbed the base of the prongs, trying to push it away as Shakairra leaned into the attack, putting all her weight on the trident as it drew closer and closer to Leucis's tender throat.

Leucis's eyes glimmered and black ice appeared from nowhere, covering the warlock and burning Shakairra's legs with cold. She shrieked through gritted teeth and planted her feet atop his icy armor that sent tendrils of pain through her boots. Just a little closer, a little more pressure and her trident would slice through flesh and bone.

The ice armor hardened, then shattered with a magic explosion, blowing Shakairra to the ground and sending her trident spinning. The marble floor sucked the breath from her, but she forced herself to her feet just as Leucis reclaimed his rod and pointed it at her. Darkness surrounded her again, but this time it was in the shape of a huge claw that reeked of sulfur and grabbed her chest.

"Let's take a trip, cousin," Leucis said, grinning, as he opened the portal with a touch of his finger, and the claw dragged her through as someone screamed. Shakairra hoped it wasn't her.


	18. the Rescuer

_Spellscarred are hard to kill,_ Quarrel-Karn thought. _And they're fucking creepy_.

Brandis proved an incredible swordsman, blocking Quarrel-Karn's every attack and scoring a couple minor hits of his own. The genasi's blood turned his obsidian skin red to his elbow and down his face from a scratch on his cheek.

He didn't even try his greenflame blade attack, not with Brandis leaving blue fire in his wake. The king darted away from Quarrel-Karn's sweeping blade, and when he tried to lasso him back with a whip of lightning blue fire leapt from the king's hand, burning the magical lightning to nothing before it got close. So instead, Quarrel-Karn charged, fully aware that that was what Brandis wanted. He made for the bandit king's head, and at the last second swept down with his blade to block the falchion, rolled, and sliced Brandis's calves with a breath of ice.

Brandis staggered as the blood ran down his legs and his blood chilled. Quarrel-Karn could hear bones grinding as they iced over, and had enough time to block a half-orc's sword and kick him to Gundar's angel before Brandis's legs burned with blue fire enough to get him moving. He grabbed Quarrel-Karn by the vest and unhinged his jaw like a snake, his mouth a gaping hole twice the size of his head and growing as his teeth elongated and sharpened and glowed with blue flames. Quarrel-Karn tried wriggling out of his grasp to no avail, though truth be told he wasn't trying his hardest. Fire didn't hurt him. His hair was fire.

But when Brandis's teeth sank into the flesh of his neck Quarrel-Karn felt the burn. Not of the fire, but from the necrotic magic that had been unleashed during the Spellplague. Quarrel-Karn screamed and felt his blood boil. Fires exploded from the wound, blowing Brandis back. The king unceremoniously dropped Quarrel-Karn to the ground as he wailed at the burns across his face. The swordmage brought a hand to the blood streaming down his chest from where his neck and shoulder met. He smiled, even though he was pretty sure Brandis had nicked an artery. "So you do fear fire. Good to know."

"Shakairra!"

Quarrel-Karn twisted at Rain's cry and saw a portal close. Neither of the tieflings were in the room.

Elkvein snapped him back into the fight. "Sparks, watch it!"

He raised his sword against a courtesan's left dagger and dodged the right, then punched him across the face. His head was getting lighter, replacing brain with air, and his arms felt hollow. _Shit, I'm losing too much blood. _

Quarrel-Karn looked around for the king as some of the guards and courtesans who'd been on Rain now turned to him, the noticeably weaker target. The ice was melting in Brandis's blood, but he was still reeling from the fire. Quarrel-Karn's sword sparkled with lightning and he tried lassoing the king again. This time, there was no resistance, and Brandis came flying at him. With a slash Quarrel-Karn cut him in half, one piece for the courtesans and one for the guards.

The victory was sweet even as his knees buckled. _If only I could've taken that damned warlock with me, too. Well, I'm sure Rain can bash his head in with her hammer. Won't that be sweet? All right, Corellon, I'm ready when you are._

Yet instead of the eladrin god of magic who take him away, it was Moradin who answered his prayers, and not to lead him into death. Quarrel-Karn felt divine power surge within him as Gundar helped him to his feet. "You do not die today, friend."

Quarrel-Karn touched his neck. Where there had once been a river of blood was now a nice, crusty scab. He was gonna have a hard time keeping his fingers away from that. "Thank you."

The numbers were now six to four, all around Rain. One of them dropped his sword and ran to one of the portals. Rain swung with her hammer in a flurry of blows and heartening green primal power that battered the three to bits. The survivor ran out the glowing portal.

"The warlock took Shakairra," Rain huffed, still in her dread serpent form. "We have to go after her."

"I agree," Quarrel-Karn said, thinking _It may be a ploy; she might've taken Brandis's offer and gotten "kidnapped" to cover herself. _

"Let's go!" Elkvein urged.

He frowned. "You're with us?"

She returned his stare. "I pick her brain when we travel together, which is a more interesting mind than most people up here; why _wouldn't_ I want to fetch her?"

"Ah. So it's not about her, it's about you."

Elkvein smiled. "Well, put it that way and I sound like a bitch."

"Children," Gundar scolded. "There's a woman who is in mortal peril."

"Right." Quarrel-Karn approached the portal and the runes that were as familiar to him as the Barazhad alphabet (the letters of the people of Akanul) and began pressing the runes in sequence. He was halfway done when the portal across the room glowed, and out stepped a score of soldiers led by what looked an awful lot like a fighter. A human fighter with biceps the size of his head.

He sighed when he entered the room at the head of his party. "Dammit, we missed it." He turned to his soldiers. "Kill them."

"Hold it!" Elkvein barked, freezing them in their tracks as she stepped out of the darkness. "Who are you and what in the Nine Hells do you think you're doing?"

The human smirked and gave a mocking bow. "Hammisoku of Tymanther."

"You are far from home," Gundar observed as Quarrel-Karn quietly continued activating the runes. "A mercenary, I presume."

"Met Brandis here in Llorkh and thought life here was better than sleeping on rocks every night."

"Yet that did not stop you from attempting this coup."

Hammisoku gave him an annoyed look. "Kill the blue one, first."

"You'll kill no one," Elkvein threatened, a deep rumble in her voice and in the stones. "We're going to finish off the warlock and then the city is yours."

"Um...no. I'll kill that worm Leucis after I'm through with you so I don't have to worry about you coming back."

Rain and the angel put themselves between the comrades and the soldiers unsheathing their swords as one. "Quarrel-Karn, get Shakairra. We can handle this."

_You sure?_ he thought, and was ready to abandon the opening portal when Elkvein shattered the ranks with thunder and Gundar picked up Shakairra's trident and tossed it to Quarrel-Karn before a golden hammer appeared right behind Hammisoku and exploded in a radiant burst of light.

_Oh, yes, they're sure_, Quarrel-Karn realized with a smile, shoving Shakairra's trident in his belt and passing through the portal.

He was in a house, definitely above ground given the sunlight streaming through the windows. He peaked outside and breathed a quick sigh of relief when he realized he was still in Llorkh, and it was approaching sunset.

The house was made of thick brick and two stories high. Quarrel-Karn was on the second story, in a long hallway riddled with wooden doors on the right and open gaps in the wall for windows on the left. There were three bodies on the floor; human guards by the looks of them. Two had what appeared to be broken necks, the other had a knife in his throat. Quarrel-Karn hoped it was a good sign.

He went to the first door, listened, and pressed his hand against it to sense any magical traps before cracking it open to peak inside. Empty bedroom. Next door was the same, and so was the next. It wasn't until Quarrel-Karn was halfway down the hall when he heard the footsteps, the panting, and the scattered pleas for mercy.

Lifting his sword, Quarrel-Karn ran to the end of the hall just as Leucis was rounding the corner. The warlock froze, real terror in those black eyes, and Quarrel-Karn paused to look at him. His robes were in tatters and scattered with his blood and his rod was nowhere to be found.

Then came the sound, that unique sound of steel biting through flesh, the simultaneous _shink_ and _squish_ as a javelin pierced through Leucis's chest, nailing him to the wall.

Quarrel-Karn jumped back, startled, and readied his sword.

Shakairra Romazi walked to the body, not even noticing Quarrel-Karn, and grabbed the javelin. She yanked, and it did not yield. Sighing, she threw her shield to the ground with a clammer, grabbed the javelin with both hands, and pried it from the stone's grasp, almost falling over once it was released.

Quarrel-Karn lowered his sword and took out the trident. "Uh, Shakairra?"

She whipped around, holding up the javelin, and relaxed when she saw who it was. "Nine fucking gates, Sparky. You scared the shit out of me."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means don't do it again or I'll skewer you." She saw the trident, grinned like a child receiving a lollipop, and tossed the javelin.

"No, I mean 'nine gates'," Quarrel-Karn reiterated, handing her the trident.

"Oh. You don't know this?" Shakairra strapped her shield back to her arm as Quarrel-Karn scanned her for injuries. "When the first tieflings made pacts with the devils they supposedly opened nine magical gateways, one for each layer of the Nine Hells. It's just something tieflings say when we're pissed or surprised."

"But...you grew up in Luruar."

She started walking back to the portal, forcing Quarrel-Karn to follow. "One of the times I ran away from home when I was younger I found a small tiefling community. Gods, they were jerks. But I still learned a lot from them."

"There are tiefling communities?"

"Yes. Little pockets of them in some of the more open-minded cities. This one was really small, less than a dozen people." Shakairra turned to him when they got to the portal. "Where are the others?"

"Fighting off a late coup."

"How many?"

Quarrel-Karn tapped the runes. "About a score, led by a mercenary named Hammisoku."

"Was his family pig farmers?"

He shrugged as the portal glowed open.

"Let's go get us a slice of bacon, then."

They stepped through to a world of blood and corpses. Dismembered parts and moaning men in various stages of dying covered every foot of floor. Rain was slouched in one of the chairs, half dead herself, by the look of it, though the wounds that were glowing green were mostly harmless. Elkvein was sniffing some shrimp in Gundar's hand, both of them pale and sweaty. "Smells funny."

"It comes from the sea. Try it."

Giving him a suspicious eye, Elkvein took the shrimp with the ends of her fingers and nibbled. She spat it into a puddle of blood. "No. What's that yellow stuff?"

One of the tables was-remarkably-relatively untouched by the fighting. It hadn't been turned over for cover and some of the food remained unspoiled, mostly because it was placed on the very edge of the room. Gundar followed her finger. "Cheese."

Elkvein took a slice, sniffed it, nibbled, and before you know it half the platter was gone and she was licking her fingers. "Mm! Why can't they make that in the Underdark?"

"Are there cows in the Underdark?"

"What's a cow?"

"Animals that produce milk, which produces cheese."

"Women make milk, and there are plenty of them down in the pits."

Gundar looked on the brink of a smile. "Yes, but only cow and goat milk makes decent cheese."

Quarrel-Karn was pushing away some very disturbing thoughts from this conversation as Shakairra sheathed her trident. "Wow. Good job."

Elkvein looked up at them. "Did you kill the warlock?"

"Taken care of."

"Was there any cheese?"

"None that I could see, no."

"Shame."

"Two hundred gold will buy a lot of cheese."

"I'm counting on it." Elkvein marched over to Rain and whacked her legs with her staff. "Wake up! We're getting out of here."

Rain sprang to her feet with hammer and shield ready. "Where? Who?"

Elkvein skittered out of her reach as Shakairra rolled her eyes. "Elkvein, that was mean. Rain, put that down. We're leaving."

The shifter lowered her hammer. "Are you all right?"

"Cuts and bruises. Nothing I can't handle."

"Good." Rain smiled. "I'm glad Quarrel-Karn made it in time."

Shakairra frowned. "In time for what?"

Rain reflected Shakairra's confusion on her face. "To...rescue you..."

Shakairra gave a sharp, bitter laugh. "That's adorable, Rain!"

"You seem surprised, Shakairra," Gundar said.

"Are you _that_ shocked that we prefer you alive more than we prefer you dead?" Quarrel-Karn demanded. Shakairra was a puzzle he couldn't figure out. One minute she was shining with confidence, the next she was saying her race was the scum of the earth. Perhaps that was just a tiefling thing.

She wiped drying blood from her cheek and winced when she brushed against an open cut. "I'm surprised you cared enough to send someone to help and I'm surprised you thought I _needed_ the help."

It was a tiefling thing. _Self-reliant idiots. _Everyone_ needs help now and again. _

"Well, that's why we sent him," Elkvein pointed out. "Though truth be told I was pretty sure you had it covered."

_You're just saying that to keep on her good side,_ Quarrel-Karn thought as Shakairra shook her head. "No, I killed Leucis and the guards. Sparky did not _rescue_ me, and if that's why he came than he's an idiot. No offense."

"None taken," he replied, grinning. "Bitch."

She smirked, showing her columns of jagged teeth.

"Though I was there to give you a hand," he continued as they approached the portal to leave. "In my defense, you _were_ dragged through a portal by a warlock with a large black magic hand, and you seemed to be struggling during the fight."

"That's because it took me a while to find his weakness."

"Which was?"

She shrugged. "Same as any tiefling's weakness: the desire to be respected and accepted. Brandis offered me a position in his guild, so I pretended to accept and beg for mercy and told Leucis what a powerful magic-wielder he was, yadda yadda yadda. Then he turned his back."

"Don't you love that moment?" Elkvein asked.

"I like the part where I drive a spear through their hearts better."

"I like this," Quarrel-Karn announced once they passed through the portal.

"Finishing?" Rain guessed.

_Bonding_, he almost said, and stopped himself. He'd never see these people again; why bother trying to get close to them? "Relaxing," he said instead. "And getting drunk after."


	19. the Guide

Elkvein would've stayed in the wizard's tower if Riardon hadn't been an eladrin. When those two had met face-to-face, Shakairra had thought the tower would go down in a blaze of magic and blood. Instead, Elkvein had snatched her gold and stormed out of the room. Her horse and things were gone from the stables.

"That's the last we'll see of her," Quarrel-Karn commented, the shit from the stables almost overpowering the leftover shit from the sewers clinging to his skin.

Rain groaned. "I was just starting to like her."

"What was it like, Shakairra? Traveling with her?"

Shakairra paused to think, nibbling on her tongue. "It was...interesting. The first few nights were tense, but when she didn't steal my gold or try to slit my throat it went from tense to comfortably quiet."

"Did you find anything about her? Where she was from, why she left?"

_I didn't ask, and I almost wish I had._ "She's from the Underdark, and she left because she doesn't like Lolth." Shakairra stretched her back, which was beginning to tighten. "I'm gonna find an inn. Clean myself up and get something to eat."

"I would recommend the Starlight Inn," Gundar replied, following her down the muddy street. "It has a moderate price, fair beds, good food, decent service, and warm water."

"Must be Celestia, then." Celestia, of course, being the home of such gods as Bahamut and Moradin.

Gundar smiled.

Rain left the city immediately, though Shakairra could see her campfire from the window. The Starlight Inn was right next to the wall, so there was no mistaking it for a chimney, and no one would camp outside a walled city unless they _really _didn't like civilization. Shakairra found herself smiling at the thought of Rain sleeping under the stars with a bag of gold she probably wouldn't use her whole life.

Gundar and Quarrel-Karn, on the other hand, each booked rooms in the same inn. True to his word, Quarrel-Karn got shit-faced that evening. Gundar stayed in his room after feasting on bread, rabbit, and stares. Shakairra stayed at the table they'd both sat at, nursing a cup of watered wine and listening to people talk. Her body felt like soft lead, her stomach was threatening to pop out of her skin, and her shoulders ached from the weight of her armor. It was a good ache, though. She'd gotten shit done, and from the talk of the town had saved the city from the bandit king's downward spiral. Eliza, with Riardon's guidance, had been busy the last few hours, sending troops into the tunnels to root out the last of the criminal court and destroying the dimensional gateways. It seemed the dungeons were going through a complete switch-a-roo, since almost everyone the bandit king had condemned to imprisonment had been guilty only of running up underground debt. Now all the prisoners were getting out and half the town was going in. There were three men from the dungeons in this inn, drinking and wenching. On the table to Shakairra's right was a triangle of city guards, one of which had thrown two of those ex-prisoners in the dungeons. He had a black eye from the fight earlier that evening and a grin on his face when he bought the combatant a drink. Shakairra had always tried to emulate that one piece of male thinking: you hate a guy, you throw a few punches, you laugh about it in your cups a few minutes later and be brothers tomorrow. But it was hard to let go of grudges.

"...trying to smuggle three people out of the city under the floor of a wagon," one of the guards was saying, a blond human with scars of pox across his face. "One of them was barely older than my own Ellen. Said he was taking them to some castle in the east where he could trade them for some gold. Fucking slavers."

Shakairra perked up. _Castle in the east...?_

"Oh, lots of criminals been heading east," replied a second, a redhead, and the one with black eye. "The Netherese don't mind crime near as much."

"Did you say a castle?" Shakairra called, standing.

The third guard, the youngest of the group by the look of it, frowned. "Might be he did. What's it to ye?"

Shakairra sat at the empty chair of the table and hailed the waitress. "Another round over here! On me!"

The blond raised his eyebrows. "You want to get into the slave business, demon?"

"I prefer the business of killing slavetraders, sir. Not joining them."

He laughed as a middle-aged waitress came over with a platter of drinks. "The she-devil calls me 'sir'!"

"You should be honored," the redhead replied darkly. "This is Shakairra Romazi. You owe her your brother's freedom and our town being set to rights." He turned to her. "Forgive my companions. They don't have sharp ears or minds. There's a castle to the east, just past the mountains on the inside of Netheril. Some say it's a place of dark magic, others claim it's cursed, and the more practical people say it's where merchants from the Vale trade with Netherese. After hearing this tale of the people in the wagon, I'd go with the latter."

"Is there a trail that leads to it?" Shakairra asked, her heart silently soaring at the redhead's behavior, yet she felt like she was blushing. _Thank the gods we tieflings have red skin._ "Maybe beyond it, as well?"

The boy-he couldn't have been more than fourteen-snorted. "You want to go hunting slavetraders, now?"

She was half a heartbeat from smacking him. "After killing a wizard and a warlock, slavetraders should be easy. Is there a trail?"

"There's a faded trail to," the redhead answered. "Not sure if it goes beyond."

Shakairra touched his glass with hers. "Thank you." She stood and walked away, finishing her ale and slamming the glass on the counter as she hurried up the stairs to her room, ignoring the burn in her legs.

After she'd closed and locked the door to her room she pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket and gently spread it across the bed. It had been in Keira's robes, and at first, Shakairra hadn't understood. She knew it was a map. Llorkh wasn't on it, but there was an arrow marking it to the west, and a trail that led through the mountains north of the eladrin kingdom Evereska to the Netheril city Oreme, even marking the dark chasm in Netheril that spiraled down into the Underdark and was known as the Great Maw. The trail went through various symbols, some of which did not make sense to Shakairra: a circle of dots, a skull, a house, a flag, and, the closest one to Llorkh, a castle.

"It's a network," she breathed, anger and excitement mingling in her chest. A black market scheme to get slaves to Oreme, which was openly in that dark trade. It was a relatively safe trail to get people to and from the Vale with designated pit stops or even relay points; trade the captives for gold at the circle of dots or get their worth in food and supplies in the castle instead of going all the way to the City of White Towers.

Shakairra had a hard time getting to sleep that night, finding herself torn between two paths. She could either give the map to Riardon or the city guards and hope they got around to flushing the trial out out eventually while she headed south to an unknown fate or she could go after the slavetraders herself, which would probably land her in an early grave.

Easy choice, but the excitement still kept her up.

The next morning, Shakairra saddled her horse as the sun was rising and rode out the city gates with no fanfare or pompous. She thought she'd beaten the boys, but found them just outside the gates with Rain.

"We decided to say good-bye one last time," Quarrel-Karn announced, a bundle of cloth and wool and fire against the snow.

"Are you hung over?" Shakairra asked.

"Not really. I stop drinking when I'm drunk."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"There's plenty. You still heading for Waterdeep?"

"No, they chased us out with bows and arrows."

"That was when you had a drow with you."

"They're not like to forget my face."

He shrugged. "So, the Dragon Coast?"

"It'll improve my vulgar vocabulary."

Quarrel-Karn laughed until Gundar said, "You lie."

Shakairra frowned. "Sorry?"

"You're lying. You're not going to the Dragon Coast, are you?"

Rain gave a sad smile. "Are you returning to Luruar?"

"No! I'm not an idiot!"

They waited.

Shakairra sighed and showed them the map. When she was done explaining what it meant she said, "If nothing else, I could pretend to be one of them and gather information, then leave and return with an army."

"From where? Llorkh?" Quarrel-Karn asked, studying the map.

"Anywhere that'll listen and be willing to follow me." She snatched the map from his hands and stuffed it in her pocket. "Are you still chasing your myth?"

"It's not a myth, and yes."

She shook her head. "You are mad."

"I'm not the one waging a one-woman war on the slave trade."

"Gundar, are you still going north?"

"I have friends in Citadel Adbar," he replied. "I will visit them and then see Citadel Felbarr."

"Did you pass through Sundabar?"

"I got there before I was summoned here, yes."

Shakairra licked her lips. "And?"

"It is...not good."

_Erevan, you're fucking up my homeland, and I don't like it, _she thought, and nodded. "Thank you. Rain?"

"Still searching." The shifter smiled. "I'll find them."

"Try not to run into any wizards on the way."

Her smile turned into a grin. "You avoid other warlocks."

"Where's the fun in that?" Shakairra asked, snapping the reigns to get her horse to walk. Behind her, she heard the other three taking their mounts in different directions. _Shame. That was a pretty good group. We could've done a lot together. _

The thought had barely passed through her mind when she heard someone gallop behind her. "You know, the Shallow Sea and Oreme are on the same path."

She frowned at Quarrel-Karn. "No, they're not."

Another horse was on her. "There's probably a shifter clan between the two mountain ranges."

"No, there aren't."

Another horse. "I believe Moradin has-"

"No, he hasn't!"

Shakairra reigned up as the black horse and rider stepped from the trees onto the path and frowned. "What?"

"Well, here's the thing, Shakairra," Elkvein said, leaning her elbows on the back of her mare's neck. "I could either go from city to city and town to town to get chased out by arrows and plows and spend the rest of my days wandering the wilderness until I meet a village of blind people, which is so _boring_, or I could tag along with you like we did before this and actually _do_ something for the next few months."

"It'll be dangerous," Shakairra warned. "You'll be risking your life for people you probably don't even care about and who will only resent you later on."

Elkvein shrugged. "That's true of anything. At least this way I can say I did something and busted some heads."

"You'll have to take orders from me, and that goes for the rest of you, too."

"Better you than some idiot," Quarrel-Karn commented. "Come _on_! Slavetraders have gold, and you yourself said I needed a lot of it if I wanted any chance of finding the Artifact of Manifestation. And we'll be fighting Netherese! This is what every Akanul swordmage was meant to do!"

"Moradin sometimes chooses strange instruments," Gundar said. "But they are all for the best. I should have seen it in Loudwater, though now I am certain. We were meant to be together, at least for a little while."

_Thank the gods he fights better than he talks_, Shakairra thought as she turned to Rain. "And you?"

For the first time ever Rain looked timid. "You'll think it's ridiculous."

Probably some silly business with spirits or gods. "Try me."

"My tribe worshipped primarily two spirits: the World Healer and the White Wolf."

_Knew it. _

"The White Wolf is a silent spirit, but it made it very clear I should answer Llorkh's cry for help and...since then..."

"Yes?"

"It's...been following you, Shakairra."

Shakairra blinked. "You want to come with because the ghost of a wolf has been stalking me, is that it?"

Rain nodded, though Shakairra got the sense there was more unsaid.

She shrugged. "Not the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"Yes, it is."

"You're right, it is. But I'm glad you're coming." She touched Rain's shoulder. "Seriously."

Elkvein turned her horse. "What's first?"

Shakairra smiled. "We're going to raid a castle."


	20. the Investigator

The castle was a four-day journey on horseback, just past the Graypeak Mountains and west of a small forest. Luckily, the Graypeak Mountains were really two mountain ranges close to each other with about thirty miles between them, so they didn't have to do any treacherous climbing.

The first couple of days passed mostly in silence as they rode. The first night, when they made camp, Elkvein situated her tent farthest from the fire, to keep away from the others and blend better with the darkness. Quarrel-Karn put himself as close to the fire as he could get without getting too close to the drow, and the other three simply tried not to instigate anything and shivered in the snow.

The next evening they found a jut of trees that blocked some of the snow trickling from the sky. Rain bent several evergreen branches to make a little dome large enough to hold two of them. Shakairra and Elkvein shared it, since Gundar turned it down, Quarrel-Karn had a head of fire, and Rain was furry and covered herself in pelts with a smile.

"We should call ourselves the Silent Companions," Elkvein grumbled, one of the few complete sentence spoken since they began the journey.

"I'm thinking more the Shivering Companions," Shakairra chuckled.

_Serves us right for starting a journey in Deepwinter,_ Elkvein thought, snuggling in her blanket. _One more reason to hate the surface world. _

On the third night they set up camp within sight of the castle. It was half a day away, and from this distance looked like a dismal, crumbling place. They were uphill of the castle, actually halfway up a little mountain on the Graypeaks. The only reason they were up here instead of down there was because Rain had spotted a cave that would make good, dry shelter.

The opening to the cave was nestled into the wall of the mountain. A plateau yawned before it, sprinkled with small trees and a foot of snow.

"Hold on," Rain called, dismounting from her horse and removing her hammer from its holster, which made the rest of them stiffen as she sniffed the ground, cursed the cold, and pointed to smooth indents in the snow. "Those are tracks."

"Seem a little smooth for tracks," Quarrel-Karn commented.

"They're old. A few days, maybe. I think a large creature has moved in."

"How large?" Shakairra asked.

Rain shrugged. "Bigger than a bear. Small enough to fit."

"Hey!"

Elkvein whipped around to find five other adventurers approaching on foot. There was an elf archer, a shadar-kai spell-caster (probably wizard), two human swordsmen, and a dragonborn with a huge axe.

If drow didn't like elves or eladrin, tieflings did not like dragonborn for much the same reason. The downfall of Bael Turath had been caused in most part by the ancient dragonborn civilization of Arkhosia. It was one of the first things Elkvein had learned, as she'd made it her business to know who disliked who. This dragonborn had raw enmity in his red eyes, barely visible through his thick black scales, blunt snout, and strong brow. Like all dragonborn he only had four fingers on each hand, which were more like talons, and was a head taller than Gundar. He was, essentially, a wingless dragon in humanoid form.

Shakairra handled it quite well. "Is there a problem?"

"Other than the obvious?" He flicked his eyes to Elkvein. "This is our hunt, tiefling. Stay out of it."

"A hunt for what?"

"The great beast that's taken refuge here," the shadar-kai picked up. Her race was from the Shadowfell, with ashen skin and black eyes. She had bold, triangle tattoos up her face and wore dark robes. "A dragon."

"A youngling?"

"An adult."

Shakairra raised her eyebrows. "You're saying an adult dragon lives here?"

"And we're going to slay it," the dragonborn declared. "And add its scales to our collection." He lifted his cloak, and Elkvein saw he wore armor made of dragon scales. Upon further examination, she saw peaks of dragon scales under the others' thick winter gear, as well.

Rain tipped her head. "Those belong to infant dragons, not adults."

The elf and one of the humans reddened, while the other unsheathed his sword. "How about we take a pair of demon horns and drow ears? No one can say _those_ belong to infants."

Quarrel-Karn was suddenly in front of them, his sword over his head and glowing brilliantly in the darkening twilight. "You want 'em? You go through me, first."

Elkvein almost dropped her staff she was so surprised, though she did her best to hide it. Dragonborn were made to be fighters. They esteemed honor above all else and the highest form of honor was a glorious battle, so they practiced it a _lot_.

The dragonborn put a hand on the swordsman's shoulder and pulled him back. "We did not come here to fight travelers. We came to fight a beast." He looked up at Shakairra. "Make your camp elsewhere, tiefling, and stay out of our way."

Elkvein studied the band and tightened her grip on her staff. She could start by blowing the wizard and elf to pieces with lightning while Quarrel-Karn, Rain, and Shakairra ripped through the melee fighters and Gundar cleaned up. It'd be a hell of a lot easier than killing the Bandit King.

Instead, Shakairra led her horse around the band, forcing the others to follow. "Enjoy yourselves."

Quarrel-Karn didn't sheath his sword until all five were in the cave. "Pricks."

"Well, they saved us the trouble of dealing with a dragon," Shakairra pointed out. "That would've made for a sour evening."

"I beg to differ; I'd love to kill a dragon."

"Maybe next time, Sparks."

"Quarrel-Karn, I have had a sudden curiosity," Gundar said as they found a hollow in the rock wall that served as a mini-cave, several yards from the dragon's lair, lit by the moon.

_So have I, _Elkvein thought. _Why risk your life for the likes of me and Shakairra?_

"The best swords have names."

Quarrel-Karn grinned. "Blaze."

"How fitting."

He gave the deva a look.

"I was not mocking you."

"Oh. Good."

Rain started a fire while the others raised tents. "Dragonslayers," she grumbled. "You take the _horns_ if you kill a dragon, not the scales. The horns are what truly show the age."

"How would you know?" Elkvein asked, digging through her bags for food. "You ever kill a dragon?"

"No, but I know someone who worships them," Rain answered. "An outsider who stayed in my village for years. She used to read about dragons and their hunters and offer prayers and sacrifices to the dragon god."

"Bahamut," Gundar added. "Was she a paladin?"

"She certainly had the armor for it."

"What of you, Elkvein?"

The drow looked up from the block of cheese in her hand. "Huh?"

"Do you have any gods?"

_He doubts my broken ties to the Underdark_. She nibbled on her cheese. "A bit of a personal question, don't you think?"

"You playing truth-bound, Gundar?" Quarrel-Karn asked.

Rain frowned. "What's truth-bound?"

"A game I used to play as a kid. Each player got to ask one question, and everyone had to answer truthfully."

"How would you know if the other person was lying?" Elkvein asked.

"You didn't. It was based on honor and superstition. Supposedly, the gods cursed you if you lied."

"Sounds like a good way to pass the time," Shakairra declared, sitting down in front of the fire and warming her hands. "Gundar, you going first?"

"I would be delighted." The deva sat. So did Rain and Quarrel-Karn. Elkvein had no choice but to follow suit.

"What are your gods?" he asked.

"Don't have any," Elkvein answered.

"No deities at all?"

"Never helped me. Why should I waste my time with them?"

She half expected him to bring up an argument concerning his own faith and the powers it could bring, but instead Gundar turned to Shakairra, who nodded. "Same."

Quarrel-Karn reached out and pulled up the bone amulet resting against her chest. "Sure."

She slapped his hands away. "That doesn't count. I don't pray to Tempus. What about you, Sparky?"

"Corellon."

Elkvein tried not to wince, but Rain noticed anyway. "You really don't like eladrin, do you, Elkvein?"

"Why should I?"

"Why do you hate them?"

_They threw us in the black pits of the world to rot and never looked back. _"They're arrogant and think that because they live for centuries they're above everything."

"Well, so do most drow," Shakairra pointed out.

"We at least get our hands dirty."

"Maybe you're conditioned to hate them," Quarrel-Karn suggested.

Elkvein frowned. "What?"

"You grew up in the Underdark. That's not exactly a loving, nurturing environment."

"No, it's not." That's all she would say about it. She didn't want to get into the seed of hatred the drow society planted upon one's first conscious moment and watered every day until there was a garden of enmity; hatred for their Fey cousins who cast them down to the Underdark, hatred for the sun, hatred for the sun's creatures, hatred for the enslaved goblins, hatred for the other noble houses, hatred for your parents, hatred for your siblings, contempt for your child, obedience to Lolth, shame for yourself.

"And Rain?" Gundar probed.

"The World Healer and the White Wolf," she answered.

Shakairra howled.

Quarrel-Karn chuckled and Rain, after a startled moment, began to snicker. Gundar smiled, and a queer bubbling sensation rose in Elkvein's chest. After a few seconds they were all laughing and howling, making a horrible racket that only made them laugh harder.

"We-we make the worst pack ever," Rain chortled.

Quarrel-Karn uncorked a skin, took a swallow, and passed it to Rain as the laughter ebbed into comfortable silence. When it got to Elkvein she sniffed, swallowed, and bittersweet wine slithered down her throat. She almost spit it out, and her expression as she passed it evoked a new wave of laughter.

"Why is it always to the moon?" Elkvein asked, wiping the red drops from her face.

"What? The howling?" Quarrel-Karn clarified.

She nodded.

The genasi shrugged. "No idea."

"There are dozens of myths and legends about it," Shakairra answered. "No one knows for sure."

"Maybe they just like the theater."

"My tribe has a legend on it," Rain ventured. "When the first people lived in Toril there was no moon, just stars barely bright enough for those to see at night. Very few creatures could glimpse into the darkness, one of them being the wolves. Back then the wolves and elves worked together harmoniously; the elves provided shelter, comfort, and protection for the wolves during the day while the wolves hunted and protected at night. But the wolves began to die out, leaving the elves exposed to attacks from various creatures and people. After many tendays of this, someone, either one of the wolves or an elf, decided to light a lantern in the sky for the elves to see by. One of the wolves went up to light it."

"Let me guess: the White Wolf," Shakairra said.

Rain nodded. "The White Wolf lit a brazier that glowed with silver fire. He went back down to the earth, and the elves were able to fend for themselves. But the light only lasted for half a tenday, after which it began to fade. The White Wolf had seen what a great improvement the moon had on all the creatures, so he volunteered to stay in the sky and keep the moon lit, and every time the moon rises his cousins howl to him in encouragement and thanks. But the dark creatures of the night don't want the moon in the sky because it exposes them, and they constantly attack the White Wolf, so he has to stop lighting the brazier every month to chase them away, then come back and light it again. That's why the moon waxes and wanes and why the wolves howl at it."

"A good story," Gundar complimented after a short silence. "But by many modern civilizations incorrect."

"Most people think the moon is a goddess named Selune," Quarrel-Karn agreed. "Shar's sister."

Elkvein frowned. "Shar is the goddess of revenge and darkness."

"They worship Shar in the Underdark?" Shakairra asked, startled.

"Anyone who dares is publicly executed, but yes. It's mostly shadow creatures instead of drow."

"Well, Selune constantly battles Shar," Quarrel-Karn continued. "As well as anything else that's dark or evil."

"Or lycanthrope," Rain grumbled, taking another swallow of wine.

"To be fair, most lycanthropes destroy towns and villages."

"To be fair, so do humans, elves, genasi, and everyone else who's ever declared a war."

He waved the argument away with his hand. "Ah, we were playing truth-bound?"

"Right." Shakairra looked around. "Anyone have another question?"

"I've got one." Elkvein smiled. "What is the worst thing you've ever done?"

Everyone paused, Shakairra especially. "By the surface world's standards or the Underdark's?"

"Surface world. I'm sure whatever you do to the people of the Underdark is considered fine up here."

Shakairra rubbed her hands together. "Well..."

Sudden screams and shrieks from the dragon's cave cut her off, followed by a deafening roar, and even louder silence.

"We should help," Gundar decided.

"They attacked a dangerous creature," Rain argued. "If you can't kill it, don't try to hunt it."

"If it is a dragon, they could've wounded it already," Elkvein pointed out.

"So?"

"So dragons always have hoards..."

"That is dishonorable," Gundar replied.

"It's smart. We can tell everyone that we had help from the other five if you want."

"We had better."

"I'm up for killing any dragon," Quarrel-Karn announced, standing.

"We don't know if the dragon is at fault," Shakairra said quietly.

"It's a dragon."

"I'm a tiefling, and Elkvein's a drow."

_Don't drag me into your anti-kill argument, _Elkvein almost said, but there was no way she could do so without condemning herself.

"We should never enter a conflict of which we are not a part of nor have any knowledge of," Gundar agreed. "Our best course of action is to attempt to aid the wounded."

"And if the dragon attacks us?" Quarrel-Karn demanded.

"Then we kill it."

Shakairra raised her eyebrows and nodded. "Who's got a white flag?"


	21. the (Mediocre) Diplomat

The cave was small, cold, and dirty, nothing at all like the dragon dens in the stories. Of course, Shakairra had only ever heard about the mighty ancient dragons who sacked entire cities in an hour and required whole armies to kill them (if they were tyrannical) or led kingdoms through the millennia of peace and prosperity (if they were benevolent). They had to start somewhere, and a damp cave on the edge of Netheril is a good place to start.

Her fist tightened around the pole with a white cotton shirt tied on the edge of it in a knot. Quarrel-Karn had grudgingly produced it for her, then had unsheathed his blade and led the party into the cave with his glowing sword. Shakairra didn't object because it was their only light source and a lot better than a torch. And she was more comfortable having him next to her with a sword if she and the others were going in with weapons down (the exception being Elkvein, who used her staff as a walking stick). She would've been a lot more comfortable holding her trident instead of the branch they'd found outside the cave, but this was a peace mission. She could only hope the dragon would respect that.

_patta patta patta patta_

Rain pulled out her hammer from the holster on her back; her shield was already strapped to her arm. "That is no dragon."

_patta patta patta patta_

The sound of light, rapid footsteps swelled, and soon everyone had weapons drawn. Shakairra dropped the flag and drew her trident, but had no time to strap on her shield before it jumped on top of Rain's.

She threw herself down, squishing the beast between her shield and the ground. There was a _hissssss_, Rain growled and rolled, leaving the shield behind as it deteriorated into a pile of rust. The monster hopped back on its many legs. It looked like an oversized beetle, about the size of a man's torso, with many, many teeth in its little mouth and spores covering its rock-like stomach.

"Rust monster," Quarrel-Karn identified. "I'm not hitting that."

Shakairra didn't blame him; she didn't want to sacrifice her trident for a killing blow, either. "That's why we have spellcasters. Gundar, Elkvein."

Lightning and radiant light made quick work of the rust monster. Rain poked the pile of rust with her foot and sighed. "That shield was a gift from my tribe."

"Would you like mine?" Shakairra offered. "I can use both hands on the trident."

Rain shook her head. "No, I have the wild to protect me. And Quarrel-Karn."

"Ah, who's really pushing for dragonslaying," he called from around the corner.

Shakairra put her trident back, picked up the flag, and hurried over to see the corpse of one of the humans sprawled out behind a pile of rocks. His sword was in his hand, unbloodied, and there were deep gashes across his back that had ripped through cloth and scales and flesh as if they were cotton.

"Could the rust monster have done this?" Shakairra asked, hoping against hope.

Rain knelt beside the body and shook her head. "No, these wounds are too large and..."

An ear-splitting roar that echoed off of walls blended with a scream of agony cut her off. The five of them ran deeper into the cave, the light of Quarrel-Karn's sword bouncing against the walls until they burst into a large chamber.

The dragon did not disappoint, even though he had been larger in Shakairra's imagination. One of the chromatic dragons, his scales lacked the shiny luster of his metallic (and often benevolent) cousins, but the indigo scales still made him look like royalty as a thick arm of lightning shot out of his mouth, slamming into the elf archer. She screamed, and when she hit the ground did not move again.

The dragonborn was sprawled on the ground just a few feet from the party. As the dragon focused on the shadar-kai wizard and human swordsman, Shakairra took Gundar and Rain with her as they inched their way to the body, leaving the volatile Quarrel-Karn to guard Elkvein. Even though moonlight streamed from an opening in the cave above, he did not sheath his sword.

_Blue dragons, blue dragons, what do I know about blue dragons? _Shakairra thought as Gundar checked for a pulse and nodded. _All dragons have vanity issues and tend to love treasure. Blue dragons usually live in deserts...we are in Netheril. This one is too small to be an adult but too large to be juvenile, so in that middle range several centuries old. Lightning breath weapon. Speaks Draconic and probably (hopefully) Common. Good liars, though not as much as green dragons..._

The wounded dragonborn looked like he'd been chomped on, deep teeth marks riddling his chest and back. Gundar began his prayers as Rain's eyes glowed green with the wounds. Shakairra then made the classic mistake of turning her back on the monster in the room.

Gundar's pale eyes widened as harsh claws slammed on either side of Shakairra so hard the ground shook. She cringed and very slowly turned around. "...hello..."

The dragon eyed the white flag with narrow, reptilian eyes. "A curious group of medics."

"We're just passing through," Shakairra explained. _Sparky, don't do anything stupid. Sparky, don't do anything stupid. Shakairra, don't do anything stupid. _"We were hoping to save what lives we could, either by healing wounds or convincing survivors _not to do anything stupid_," she stressed, looking past the dragon at the wizard, who was helping the human to his feet. He must've gotten thrown back by a claw or something.

"How do I know you don't mean to join this group of 'dragonslayers'?" He spat the word out like it was poison.

"Because we're not idiots."

She thought she saw a glimmer of amusement in the dragon's eyes. "You are passing through. To where?"

"The castle just half a day's ride from here. We're investigating a ring of black market traders and hope to destroy it."

His eyes narrowed. "You say you are not dragonslayers, yet you travel to the castle to destroy what is there?"

Shakairra winced. "Why, is there a dragon there?"

"There are two."

"T-Two?!"

Quarrel-Karn whooped.

Shakairra cast him a glare as he grinned. "Two evil dragons helping with the slave trade? Come on! Double the glory, double the loot, and get rid of twice as much evil. Ooh, it's Midsummer!"

"I wouldn't put fighting two dragons in the same league as a huge festival," Shakairra groaned.

"You won't have to," the dragon continued. "One of them is my son, a wyrmling, who has been taken captive by my brother."

Shakairra paused, at a loss for words. Rain filled in for her as the dragonborn groaned back to life. "Your brother is at the castle and your son is his hostage?"

"Simply put, yes."

Shakairra leaned on her stick. "Well, that makes it so much easier-oh, wait, no it doesn't!"

"If you are concerned I will stop you, let me dispel that misunde-"

The human's war cry cut the dragon off as he charged with his sword. The blue dragon whipped around as Shakairra brought out her trident and threw it at the human's legs. The prongs embedded themselves in his knee as his rallying cry turned into screams and he fell face-first in front of the dragon.

The shadar-kai looked up at Shakairra furiously as the tiefling scurried around the dragon, picked up the human's good foot, and started dragging him away. "What are you doing?!"

"Saving your stupid friend's life," Shakairra grumbled as he feebly waved his sword at her. _Ach, I need to placate the wizard and get more information out of the dragon without getting them to kill each other. Luruar's looking better each passing minute._ "Sparky, a little help?"

"We don't need your help!" the wizard declared, gripping her wand with white knuckles.

"Really? Because when we arrived it looked like you were all in very bad shape. Your archer's dead, as is the other swordsman, and your dragonborn is clinging to life. Now, I'm annoyed to find I have enough of a conscience to stick my neck out for you people. Don't make me regret it." She grabbed her trident as Quarrel-Karn took the foot of the man and yanked it out of his knee, ignoring his wails as she turned back to the dragon. "I apologize. You were saying something about not being offended if we killed your brother?"

The dragon crouched until his stomach barely brushed against the floor, but not until Shakairra saw the blood leaking down his scales. _So someone scored a hit on him, eh? _"I had a lair to the east. My brother has ruled in the ruined castle, but our relationship has always been...difficult, even with distance. Several months ago he led a small army, much like yourselves, to my lair, stealing my hoard and my son and destroying my home. That is why I am here. But this tumble has surely caught his attention. Should he see me before I am ready, my son's life is forfeit."

"But if we were to go ahead of you, we either kill your brother and save your son or die a valiant death. Either way, you win."

"Cunning tiefling. You wound me with your mistrust."

"You don't get far with an open heart these days." She jerked her thumb at Elkvein.

The drow took that moment to step forward. "Why should we save your son? If we successfully kill one dragon surely we can kill another? Especially a wyrmling."

"My brother is a rather crafty character. Unlike most dragons, he does not keep his hoard in one convenient location. You will most likely find his lesser hoard, one of many gold pieces and gems. The true prizes as well as my own hoard will lie elsewhere. Spare the life of my son, and I will help you find the entirety of my brother's hoard as well as some...lesser...assets of my own." The dragon loomed over Shakairra. "But before you go anywhere, you are trespassing on my new territory. Such an act requires a fee in either blood or gold."

Before Shakairra could offer anything, Rain threw a large bag at the dragon's claws. "Here you go. Three hundred and fifty gold pieces and a couple rubies worth more."

Shakairra stared at Rain as the dragon lifted the lip of the bag with his claw. "That is sufficient for all of you." He tossed it in the air and swallowed it whole with a loud gulp.

Rain noticed the stares and frowned. "I've been adventuring for quite some time. You don't just teleport from Elfharrow to Loudwater."

_And you save quite a bit of money when you sleep outdoors and hunt your own breakfast_. Shakairra turned back to the dragon, who was studying Rain. "Here I was thinking you were a paladin."

Rain stood, leaving the dragonborn and her hammer on the ground. "I do not draw power from big men in the sky."

"No, your power lies in plants and dead people rotting in the earth."

Rain narrowed her golden eyes as Shakairra sucked in a breath.

The dragon laughed. "Do I offend you, warden?"

"Quite a bit, yes," she growled, showing her canine teeth.

"I would offend you much more if you were a paladin. That kind has been tormenting my own for centuries. Yet you are a relatively new creature." The dragon took a step forward for a closer leer. "Tell me, warden. What brings you on this quest?"

"Dead people rotting in the ground."

The dragon laughed yet again, harsh and relentless, as Shakairra cringed. "And what, pray tell, is a warden doing without her shield?"

"I had a shield; a very nice, thick shield given to me by the ancestors of my village. Your monster at the gate reduced it to a pile of rust."

_Easy, Rain,_ Shakairra silently pleaded.

The dragon pulled back. "I understand it is difficult to trust the word of a dragon of my stature, so I will give you a small token of agreement that will help keep you alive long enough to rescue my son." The dragon hawked and spat something big and dark at Rain's feet. She knelt, brushed some of the spittle away, and revealed a large, black shield with the emblem of a cobra with bat wings emblazoned upon it. It was oval-shaped, made of wood and animal hide and framed with iron, the snake sewed on with beads made of colored bones. This close to it, Shakairra felt a tingling in her fingers.

All tensity drained from Rain as she smiled. "This is perfect!"

"A flying cobra," Gundar observed. "Is that your emblem, dragon?"

"In a sense," the dragon replied. "It was the primitive people's way of depicting dragons, before more civilized artists learned to paint us properly."

_Nice insult, jackass,_ Shakairra thought, though Rain seemed oblivious to the slight.

The dragon continued: "That shield is something on the order of eight thousand years old, yet its magic will keep it for another eight thousand."

"This is...just...perfect!" Rain strapped it to her arm, admiring its weight. "Thank you so much!"

The dragon began to walk out of the cave, forcing Quarrel-Karn, the wounded human, and Elkvein aside. "Send me a signal when my son is safe. A black smoke, perhaps."

"You won't miss it," Elkvein called after him.

When it was just humanoids in the cave Shakairra yanked the white shirt off of the stick and tossed it to Quarrel-Karn, a difficult task with her shaking hands.

"Does the prospect of slaying a dragon frighten you so much?" Gundar asked as the dragonborn blinked.

"No, it's only nerves from this encounter." She wiped the sweat from her palms and turned to the wizard. "If you and your surviving friends still wish to make a name for yourselves as adult dragonslayers, you're more than welcome to come with us."

The shadar-kai spat in her face.

Shakairra wiped off the spittle, a common hazard on her face. "You're welcome."


	22. the Spiders' Disciple

"We never finished our game," Elkvein commented the next morning as they took down the tents.

"Oh, right. Worst thing you've ever done by surface world standards, right?" Shakairra clarified. "You first."

"No, you first."

"You asked."

Elkvein sighed. She would've preferred to see the other players' hands before revealing her own; she had a rather vast reservoir of deeds considered "worst things", they would've believed any of them. But if showing her cards was what it took to get a solid gauge on these four, so be it. "I killed a priestess."

"Of Lolth?" Quarrel-Karn asked.

"Yes."

"Shit, I thought you said by surface-world standards."

"It's still murder."

"Why'd you do it?" Shakairra asked.

_She was an evil, nasty bitch who liked making spiders bite me to convince others I was cursed. I still have the scars on my legs._ "Revenge. She was in league with the matron of the House I served, and at the time her death would've caused the most damage because her daughter and heir wanted to take the church in a slightly different direction outside of the House's interests. So I killed her to hurt the House, thinking I'd go unnoticed, but someone saw and I couldn't keep blackmailing them forever, so I ran."

"Why would you betray your own House?" Gundar asked, rolling up blankets.

_Because it was run by another evil, nasty bitch._ "It wasn't my House. Long story short, I was a slave."

That raised a few eyebrows. Shakairra smiled. "Well, then you're in the right place."

Elkvein dropped the last of her things in a bag, brushing snow off the leather. "What about you, Rain? What's the worst thing you've ever done?"

The shifter shrugged, strapping her things onto the horse so tight Elkvein thought the poor creature would pass out. "I honestly don't know."

"Any murders?"

"Plenty. But always in the defense of myself or someone else. There really isn't much..." She picked up her hammer and swung it onto her shoulder, looking at the snow. "Actually, there was one time a couple years ago when my tribe went to war with another, one of half-orcs. It was very warlike with plenty of barbarians. They gave a great fight, but in the end were defeated. We captured their chief and the elders tried to decide what to do with him, whether to release him or send him to one of the cities in chains or kill him. In the end, they decided to execute him." She kicked snow onto the firepit that was still sputtering smoke from breakfast. "And the way we execute people is we have them decide the executioner and the method. The chief had seen me fight and had deemed me the mightiest warrior of my tribe, so he asked me to bash his head in with my hammer."

"Did you?" Quarrel-Karn asked after a pause.

"Yes."

"And?"

She looked up from the snow. "That tribe glorified battle. I don't know why; I never want to die on a stinking, bloody field from a painful mortal wound with my friends suffering around me. But they turned it into something beautiful and dreamed about glorious deaths on the battlefield. The half-orc chieftain was one of the best men I ever knew. My biggest regret is giving him an execution instead of the death he wanted."

_This one doesn't regret killing, just the manner of it. Good to know._ "How _do_ you want to die?" Elkvein asked. "Since we're on the topic of death."

Rain swung her hammer and slid it in its holster on the horse. "Surrounded by friends and family at the age of a hundred, under a summer sky in a rich green field, with children's laughter in my ears and a hot meal in my stomach."

"And yet you're a warden," Gundar commented. "Such a death is a luxury few of your kind can afford."

Rain smiled. "When nature calls, I answer. What of you, Gundar? What is the worst thing you've ever done?"

The deva hesitated. "You all know the devas' cycle of rebirth, yes?"

Shakairra nodded. "More or less."

"Do you know what happens when we commit foul deeds in any given life?"

"You turn into a rakshasa."

Elkvein frowned. "A what?"

"An evil deva," Quarrel-Karn explained. "Essentially human tigers."

"Cursed by gods and men," Gundar agreed. "The last time I was alive I came within inches of becoming a rakshasa."

"Do you remember it?" Shakairra said.

"Enough of it. The goblins of the Smallwood near Loudwater..."

They waited.

"They were once homeless," he said at length. "Banished from a nearby kingdom, they ambushed anyone traveling the road. I happened to be on that road. They spared my life because I told them I could take them to a new lair."

"The Smallwood," Rain realized, a flash of anger in her golden eyes. "You led the goblins to the Smallwood."

"For fear of my life." Gundar smiled. "Isn't it interesting how even immortals fear death?"

"It didn't work, did it?" Shakairra asked. "Those goblins hadn't been there very long. Less than a year, even."

"And I have been in this lifetime for less than a year," Gundar agreed. "That is why I was in Loudwater at the time. When I remembered enough of what I'd done, I immediately went to remedy my mistakes and beg Moradin's forgiveness."

"How do you know you have it?" Elkvein asked. Lolth had rarely given clear signs of such; you were in her disfavor if you were dead, but you never knew when the moment would come, leaving many to falsely believe they had her protection.

"Do you remember the angel in those ancient tunnels?" Gundar asked. "She said something that you probably did not understand."

"What was it?" Rain demanded.

"It was Supernal. Bits and pieces of that language comes back to me through memories of my time as an immortal servant to the gods. But I know she said, 'You are forgiven'."

"And now you're here to keep us out of trouble," Shakairra said. "You're likely to wind back in it again."

Gundar's smile broadened. "I do not fear death anymore, Shakairra."

"We'll find out soon enough."

"Don't be such a pessimist!" Quarrel-Karn scolded.

Elkvein decided she didn't have much to fear from Gundar unless he decided she was a paragon of evil, which was very easy to assume in a drow.

"What was your worst, Sparky?"

The genasi crossed his arms, thinking. Elkvein liked to follow the little jagged fires along his skin like a maze. "Never killed anyone who wasn't trying to kill me..."

"You almost did."

"You stopped me; that doesn't count." He thought for a while, shifting his weight from foot to foot as the snow clustered on his shoulders and fizzled on his head. "Stealing my brother's favorite toy brings the most guilt."

"The brother killed by goblins?" Elkvein clarified, to Shakairra's obvious annoyance.

"His name was Jett," Quarrel-Karn confirmed. "When we were little he had this wonderfully painted toy soldier. He loved it to death, but I wanted it, too, so one night as he slept I took it and hid it, and he was crushed."

Shakairra packed the last of the bags onto the horses. "Did you ever give it back?"

"No, because the house burned down soon after that."

"Wildfire?" Rain guessed. "Or a...firesoul-related accident?"

"No, a dragon."

Shakairra hissed. "That...explains a lot."

"Doesn't it?" He grinned. "What about you, Shakairra?"

Elkvein didn't know how to classify the genasi. His worst deed was stealing a toy, yet he'd been hardened by dragons and goblins and battle. One minute he was confident, the next, crumbling. He was as changing and volatile as the fires on his head.

"Hesitation would be my biggest regret and worst deed," the tiefling said immediately.

"Hesitation for what?"

Shakairra leaned on the horse. "I had a friend...no, I wouldn't call her a friend. An acquaintance named Lia. She was an elf immigrant from somewhere down south, I forget exactly where. Anyway...I don't suppose you know the prerequisites for becoming a soldier of Luruar, do you?"

"No," Elkvein answered.

"One of them is you have to serve as a personal guard for at least a month, preferably to a noble. It instills loyalty and discipline and gives the higher authorities a chance to see your skills if they become necessary. Well, the man I guarded was a human noble named Lord Mikal. He was an oaf of a man; you would not believe how fat he was. Anyway, he hired Lia to be his washwoman. After a couple days he demanded more...intimate...duties from her. Now, I'm not ashamed to admit that if she hadn't been a bitch I would've acted a lot sooner. As it was she called me a demon every chance she got, even smacked me a couple times. And it didn't turn into rape until later when she tried to leave the manor, so that's how I justified it. We went to the authorities after the first tenday but Mikal had the city guards in his back pocket; they let him do whatever. After a while it became clear that the only way to alleviate Lia's suffering was to send Mikal to the next world, which would undoubtedly land me in prison because...well, no one trusts a tiefling."

"So you just let it go on?" Quarrel-Karn demanded. Even to Elkvein, that seemed rather cold.

"I told Lia she had to kill him," Shakairra replied. "Once Mikal was dead the guards would do the right thing and let her walk. But she was too chicken-shit, as were the other guards. So instead I waited until a few days after my guard duties were terminated, then snuck in through a gap in the security I had neglected to mention and shoved a sword through Mikal's black heart. That was the first time I ever heard Lia say 'thank you'."

"You regret not acting sooner because now you realize Lia would not have turned you in," Gundar stated.

"I even tripped the alarm and two of the other guards saw me leave," Shakairra chuckled. "But they didn't say a word when they were questioned. Oh, well. We have a dragon to kill now, not an oversized human."

_Hm. So the women seem to be more dangerous than the men. I thought the surface world was different from the Underdark in that respect._ Elkvein knew her assumptions were premature. If pushed hard enough Quarrel-Karn would cut her in half and Gundar would burn her face off with radiant light, yet it seemed to Elkvein that caution around Rain and Shakairra was more heavily demanded, given this new glimpse into their pasts.

They mounted up and trotted down the little mountain to the castle. Rain found a game trail that went through a tiny woodland thick enough to hide the horses. They tied them to trees, fed and watered them, and hoped they wouldn't be frozen by the time everything was finished. The castle was half a mile away.

Up close, it left much to be desired. Most of the stone wall was reduced to rubble and ivy, as with most of the little buildings within. It seemed only three towers and half of the south wall were stable enough to walk on; anything else that was still standing looked ready to collapse under the weight of the snow.

"No guards?" Quarrel-Karn whispered as they crossed one of the many courtyards, which was newly shoveled.

"Shh!" Shakairra hissed just as an orc exited one of the few stable towers on the wall and entered from across the courtyard. Elkvein had never seen an orc before; they looked similar to goblins, but they were bigger, more muscular, and supposedly smarter. Larger tusks jutted out from his lower mouth, and his black hair was cut to the shoulders and braided with bones.

He took one look at them and screamed, "Intru-"

Elkvein cut him off with a blast of lightning, but it was too late. The cry went up, a bell sounded somewhere in the distance, and soon pounding footsteps surrounded them. A score of orcs poured into the courtyard brandishing axes and spears and howling war cries.

Rain answered their howls with one of her own and, as Shakairra was shouting, "Wait, let the spellcasters blow them apart!" charged headfirst into the fray with hammer and shield. Quarrel-Karn cursed and jumped in after her, forcing Elkvein and Gundar to focus on the orcs in the back, the archers.

Elkvein had no idea what had gotten into the warden until she threw a lightning bolt at one of the archers with one of Gundar's shards. Red magic sprung from all the orcs, connecting them like a web, and her bolt careened back at her, blowing her back to the ground with singed hairs, a large crystal shard embedded in her shoulder.

"Damn, we're good," she grumbled, struggling to her feet as the magic between the orcs faded. She looked around for the spellcaster and saw the orc shaman way in the back. Rain was neck-deep in orcs, though she seemed to be enjoying every minute of it as she bashed skulls and churned earth, glowing with primal energy, back-to-back with the tiefling. Rain raised her hammer Shakairra's direction, and the tiefling was surrounded by ghostly thorns pointed outwards. As an orc's axe landed on her shield, one of the thorns darted out, impaling the orc through the chest.

Quarrel-Karn was on the edge of battle, dodging two spearmen. Elkvein sent a wave of thunder their way, ripping them apart, and shouted, "Sparky, the sha-"

A screech alarmingly close to her ear cut her off. The axe of an orc came uncomfortably close to her cheek as he fell to the ground, burning with Gundar's radiant light.

Elkvein was frozen in shock, and not just from the near-death experience. She forgot the Common tongue for a moment, and there was no phrase for "thank you" in Deep Speech, the language of the Underdark. And up here, she'd rarely ever had to express any form of gratitude or have any wish to.

Quarrel-Karn was skittering along the edge of the battle to the shaman. Rain unleashed a flurry of attacks upon any orc within reach, hammer glowing green and Shakairra, too, as the ghostly thorns faded away, replaced by what appeared to be a sort of toughened hide that absorbed any blow that got past Shakairra's shield. The tiefling jabbed an orc with her trident. Gundar conjured his sun hammer atop of Shakairra's head and started slamming orcs.

Elkvein snapped herself out of it as more orcs ran into the courtyard from the tower behind them. She turned and waited until she could count the hairs in the orcs' nostrils before unleashing a raging storm upon them. It made her wounded shoulder hurt like a bitch, but it was worth it. The nearest were shredded to pieces. The farthest were blown back and thrown to the ground as the winds picked up and lifted Elkvein into the sky, far out of the reach of any axe or spear. She let the wind carry her over the heads of her comrades to the top of what had once been a barracks and conjured a small whirlwind on the surviving orcs. Such powerful winds in such a small space shredded those who did not have the sense to duck and cover.

From this vantage, Elkvein saw that they were doomed. They were too few against too many; if they were in a funnel-like the entrance to the courtyard then they would have a chance, but now they were surrounded.

Gundar looked around, and with a wave of his rod, he, Quarrel-Karn, Shakairra, and Rain all vanished as Elkvein was pulled into another plane of existence. They were floating over a great mountain high in the clouds surrounded by silver mist, and Elkvein had just enough time to gasp and realize they were flying through the Astral Sea before she was jerked back into the mortal world, this time perched on the wall right above the entrance to the courtyard. Across the gap in the wall from her was Gundar, and below were Rain, Shakairra, and Quarrel-Karn, looking about as disoriented as Elkvein felt.

Shakairra looked up at Gundar as the orcs located them. "We're gonna have a talk later!"

Rain got into her dread serpent form as Elkvein poured thunder magic into the palm of her hand, creating a sphere of arcane energy. As the orcs tightened together to attack the three on the ground, Elkvein sent the sphere careening at them, slamming it into an orc. It detonated into a blast of thunder that was louder than the screams. A second wave of orcs jumped over the bodies of their comrades and met a serpentine shifter and her hammer. Gundar's rod crackled with blue lightning, and a wave of thunder shattered the orcs in back, spreading the survivors across the field like butter. Two were on Rain, one on Shakairra, and two on Quarrel-Karn.

Elkvein gave the invoker a glare. _Thunder's my thing! _

He shrugged as Shakairra shrieked. The orc had scored a lucky hit on her thigh. His elation lasted only until he was engulfed in infernal fire.

The orc shaman peaked around the ruins at the edge of the courtyard and pointed his bone staff at the rusty entrance to the castle's sewers in the middle of the yard. At first, nothing happened, giving Rain time to bash an orc in the ribs with her hammer, glowing a green that echoed in Shakairra's wound. Then the grated cover of the sewers trembled with shadows, until out spewed a swarm of spiders.

They were fat and black, each about the size of a man's fist, not including the legs, with shiny sharp fangs. Elkvein knew she should blow them back to the Abyss. She was aiming her staff, when a harsh pain raked across her back, the lashing of a whip tasted decades ago. Blood trickled down her spine as she squeezed her eyes shut. _No harm to Lolth's servants. No harm to Lolth's servants. No harm to Lolth's servants. _

"Elkvein?" Gundar asked between crystalline orbs. "Are you all right?"

She opened her eyes and saw the invoker had shattered the wave of spiders, though not before a couple had landed on Rain. She growled when one of them found a nibble of flesh on her arm and flicked it away with her axehead.

Quarrel-Karn pointed his sword to the sky, and Elkvein felt lightning tingle in her blood as his sword crackled and a white-hot whip raked across the two orcs trying to flank him. He saw Rain and Shakairra facing off the last two melee orcs on their own and charged the orc shaman. Elkvein decided it was time to leave the wall. "Gundar, we're going down."

"The stairs are over-yahhhh!"

Elkvein exhaled a purifying breath crisp as the northern wind that carried herself and Gundar from the wall gently to the ground, over the last of the spiders. The orc shaman was using his bone staff as a spear, blocking Quarrel-Karn's slashes until with a blast of arcana the sword ripped through the staff and robes and flesh. By the time Elkvein turned back to the other women, the last of the orcs were dead.

Shakairra wiped the blood from her face and marched up to Gundar. "You! What the hell was that?" It took Elkvein a second to realize the tiefling was grinning, not snarling. "How did you do that...that...teleportation thing, with the mountain, and...and-"

"Moradin's blessings are great and many," was all Gundar said.

Shakairra shook her head. "Right."

Quarrel-Karn put his hands on his knees. "Was that Celestia?"

"It was," Gundar answered.

"You took us to the home of the gods?"

"I simply opened two doors."

Rain snorted as the black scales receded from her face. "'Simply'. I saw how pale you were after."

"Simplicity can be draining."

Shakairra took out a skin and gulped half of it down, water running rivers down her jaw. "Rain, how did you know about the spell?"

The shifter smiled. "I didn't."

"So you just went mad?"

"No, I knew there was something. Just...the way the orcs looked at Elkvein and Gundar like they were expecting something...I don't know. I followed my instincts." Rain frowned at Elkvein. "You're bleeding."

Elkvein looked down at herself and saw blood pooling down her leg, forming a puddle. _Ach, dammit, Lolth. _"Well, could you pull this crystal shard out of my shoulder?"

"We both know it's not the shard."

Gundar reached towards her. She jerked back. "It's fine."

"Elkvein, you've left a trail from the wall to here," Shakairra said, pointing at the defiant drops of red that colored the courtyard. "Let us see."

Gundar's hands were soft and warm as he lifted her cloak and unbuttoned the back of her dress to reveal the old scars torn anew. Elkvein couldn't see, but she could tell by the startled gasps what the others saw: the bloody crossword on her back and the black emblem of the Spider Queen fading as the curse subsided.

"What _is_ that?" Shakairra demanded.

"Punishment," Elkvein growled, yanking the cloth out of Gundar's hands. "I tried to kill a spider when I was a girl. If I had succeeded I would be dead. Lucky for me, I just wounded it. Another drow saw, and I was taken to a priestess. When Lolth had her fill of my blood the priestess put a spell on the wounds. They would open every time I meant harm to another one of Lolth's servants."

There was a long silence. Elkvein stole a quick look at the group from her eyelashes. Gundar was unreadable. Rain looked like she'd been slapped. Quarrel-Karn was pulling an old book from his bag. Shakairra frowned. "Is there no way to reverse the spell?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"You're a sorcerer!"

"I don't care _how_ magic works, I just know that it does. Rituals take too damn long."

"This should do it," Quarrel-Karn said after flipping through a few pages. He held the book out so they could all see it. "Remove affliction. It only takes an hour."

"Do you have the components?" Shakairra asked the same time Rain wondered aloud, "You have a ritual book?"

"Of course I do," Quarrel-Karn answered. "And yes, I have the components."

"I'm sure you could find some better use for them," Elkvein said, feeling Rain's primal magic stitch up her back as she grabbed the shard in her shoulder and yanked it out with a curse. She hated them seeing her like this, bloody and broken, and hated herself for wanting to accept their help. _The drow requires about as much assistance as a shadowcat to survive_, her tutor had told her once. _A drow asks help from now one; she gives orders and others jump to obey, especially when she has such potent magic in her veins as yourself. _

Quarrel-Karn put on that lazy, arrogant smile and Shakairra gave her a look.

Elkvein held up her hands in defeat, painlessly, thanks to Rain. "Fine. We can do the damn ritual when we're done here if it'll make you feel better. Now someone button me up."

Something banged on a wooden door in the wall when Rain was halfway done with the buttons. Quarrel-Karn and Shakairra crept to the door as Gundar raised his rod. Quarrel-Karn jiggled the knob and shook his head.

Shakairra took a step back and rammed into the door with her shoulder. Half the frame came away as she staggered into the room. Two strange voices yelped in surprise as Elkvein and Rain were able to hurry over and see...

"Eldarin," Elkvein growled.

"Dark elf!" one of them hissed.

"Oh, get over it," Shakairra snapped, shoving her trident in its holster. "You're chained to the walls in a dragon's castle. You don't get to be picky about your rescuers."

"Agreed," said another eladrin. "In fact, I'm happy to see a survivor of the Underdark with such companions." He was looking past them at Gundar, who nodded in greeting. All the eladrin were thin and hollow-eyed, but there was a quiet strength in this one that made him seem thicker than the other six. His hair flowed down his back like a river of molten gold, and he had vibrant emerald orbs for eyes. The rags hanging from his thinning frame had once been rich green silks, and the belt keeping his loose pants up was designed to carry a longsword. "I am Mindartis of Evereska."

"Shakairra Romazi," she greeted, pulling a knife from her belt and undoing his chains.

"Where'd you get that?" Quarrel-Karn asked.

"Snatched it from Leucis's quarters in Llorkh." Shakairra smiled as the locks came undone with a click. Elkvein saw the knife was a small sickle, though it was more of a crescent-moon shape instead of a half-moon. The metal was black and rippled from being worked and reworked, and there was a big ruby on the end of the handle. "Mindartis, this is Elkvein, Quarrel-Karn, Rain, and Gundar.

"Are any of the rest of you of Sundabar?" Mindartis asked, rubbing his wrists as Shakairra moved to the next eladrin.

She paused and stared at him.

"The way you fight. I could see through the keyhole."

"No, we're not all of Luruar," she answered. "Obviously."

"Fair enough. And I apologize; I am forgetting my manners. These are my companions who were captured with me during a scouting mission out of Evereska: Quarion and Leshanna are archers, Dayereth is a minor wizard, and Jelenneth, Naivara, and Arannis are swordsmen."

"And yourself?" Shakairra asked, undoing another set of chains.

"I am a warlord like you."

She snorted. "I'm no warlord."

"I beg to differ," Quarrel-Karn said from the entrance as Rain and Gundar checked for wounds and nodded their agreement, to Shakairra's obvious annoyance and Elkvein's amusement.

"Warlord or no, you are obviously the leader of this party." Mindartis stood, bending over to stretch his legs and back with a sigh. "I doubt my people sent you to retrieve us. Why are you here?"

"Investigating a road known to slavetraders, in the long term." The last of the chains clinked open with a twist of Shakairra's wrist. "Killing an evil dragon and rescuing a baby one for his not-so-evil brother, in the short term."

"Ah."

"If we were armed, we could help you," said one of the archers. Leshanna, Elkvein thought.

"We will help even if we are unarmed," corrected the wizard Dayereth. "We owe you a debt."

_You can fulfill it by staying in here to rot._ Elkvein bit her tongue as Shakairra nodded. "You have a whole courtyard to choose from. I'm sure you can find something in here that'll work."

"Do you know where your possessions are?" Gundar asked once they were outside in the sun and snow. "Whether they were sold or kept?"

"Our belongings were rather valuable and easily traced. The dragon probably kept most of them," Mindartis answered. "You serve Moradin."

"I do."

"Good choice. I've met a couple dwarf clerics who use his powers well, though I personally prefer Corellon."

"So does Quarrel-Karn."

Mindartis turned to the swordmage, who shrugged.

"What is a shifter doing in Netheril?" Arannis asked. Elkvein remembered his name because he was the only redhead, looking more like an elf than eladrin.

"Seeking a pack," Rain answered. "Though now I'm traveling with this group."

"You're from Elfharrow; I recognize the accent."

"I am."

"Did you happen to know an elf tribe by the name of the Lavender Moon?"

"I did. They lived near a wizard's tower. Quelenna, I think. Your kin?"

"A cousin, yes. Is she well?"

"Last I heard her spells had led the tribe through another good harvest. They practically worship her."

"Well, as much as I love this spirit of camaraderie," Elkvein interrupted, "there is a dragon somewhere around here that needs killing."

"Agreed." Mindartis picked up a spear and nodded at its sharp point. "Quarion, tell them what you heard the orcs discussing."

"They said the storm dragon lives in the southeast tower," the archer said, swiping a bow and quiver of orc arrows from a body. "He permits no orcs inside unless by strict invitation."

"Won't be long before he realizes there aren't any more orcs to invite," Shakairra announced, taking out her trident. "We made enough noise to wake the dead. Swords up front?"

"Spells and archers in back," Mindartis agreed, getting into formation.


	23. the Wildfire

Quarrel-Karn had always had an odd fascination for the cold. He preferred heat, obviously, being born at the base of a volcano in a house amid a field of lavender. That said, he liked the way the heat embodied within him clashed with ice and snow. He saved a bit of money every winter he was in the north because he never had to buy a hat or hood (unless he wanted discrepancy), and he rarely ever needed anything thicker than a wool jacket and cloak in the thick of a blizzard.

He didn't know why this came to mind. He was keenly aware of the snow tickling his shoulders and dancing with the flames on his head. The threadbare sheet of ice atop the snow crackled under their soft feet. The air was thin and crisp in his lungs and his palms had a thin layer of sweat as they gripped his sword, as if he were holding his heart in his hands. Its magic thrummed up his palms to his elbows and chest, though he hadn't cast any spells yet. His teacher had once called it, "the deep breath before leaping off the cliff". For most people he met, the time right before an anticipated battle was filled with dread and knots of worry. Quarrel-Karn had never felt that...well, no, there was one time when he was seven and he was going to fight this thirteen-year-old earthsoul hulk named Aris...He knew he should be as afraid now as he had been back then. After all, he was facing something much bigger and more dangerous than a fat genasi boy. Yet he felt his familiar strange sense of calm mingled with excitement and keen awareness he always did before a fight. He could tell by the looks on Shakairra, Rain, Elkvein, and even Gundar's faces that they felt the same. The eladrin were unreadable, though they seemed a bit grim.

The southeast tower was only two stories tall, but it was the largest and most stable building in the castle. It was actually a guard tower on the corner of the wall. There were some large holes in the wall on the second story, so Mindartis had dispatched the wizard Dayereth and the two archers Quarion and Leshanna to take up positions there and see if they could get the high ground advantage. He wanted Gundar and Elkvein with them, but Gundar made it very clear that his place was right behind the front lines, as he had some clerical abilities, and Elkvein would not let herself be alone with eladrin. No one was too thrilled about her endangering good tactics for a silly feud, but no one was going to get into a heated argument over it.

There was only one door on the bottom level to the tower, and it was locked when Quarrel-Karn jiggled the knob.

Elkvein shoved her way past Mindartis, Jelenneth, Naivara, and Arannis, most of whom were armed with orc spears and axes (though Naivara had found a sword and gave it to Mindartis). She pulled out her knife and played with the lock until there was a _click_.

She would've opened the door, too, if Rain hadn't snatched her hand and shook her head with wide eyes.

_What?_ Shakairra mouthed.

Rain shrugged. _Instinct_.

_Well, her instinct saved our asses before_, Quarrel-Karn thought as Shakairra motioned for all of them to get out of the way. She stayed by the door. So did Quarrel-Karn.

He jerked his thumb towards the others. Shakairra shook her head and held up her shield. He leaned down in her ear and whispered, "Swordmages are supposed to be the idiots in the front. Warlords stay in back and make sure we don't get in trouble."

"I'm not a warlord!" she hissed.

"And anyway, I'm faster. Lightning breath will tear your shield apart."

Shakairra sighed and backed up beside Mindartis.

Quarrel-Karn took a breath and, for the first time in months, prayed, _Corellon, may my mind be sharp and my sword be quick. Or maybe it's the other way around. I don't know. Don't let me die. Amen._

He opened the door.

The blue dragon was slightly larger than his brother, and had a nasty scar across his face, perhaps from a sword or spear. His lightning was also thicker and faster. Quarrel-Karn, fortunately, was even faster. He still felt a jolt of electricity and numbness up his leg when he dove out of the way. Elkvein spun into the doorway right after it was clear and answered with a bolt of her own. Quarrel-Karn scrambled to his feet as Dayereth chanted spells and arrows landed with _thwaks_ from above. He heard grunts and screams as the rest of the group poured into the tower and knew there was more than the dragon to deal with.

"Dragonborn?" he scoffed, back in the tower. He should not have been surprised. The word "dragon" was in the race's name. Yet still, it was rarer to come by a dragonborn than a genasi in Faerun.

The floor of the second story was almost completely gone, giving the archers and wizard ample view, once they got rid of the four dragonborn mercenaries up there. There were four more down here, too, wearing plain armor and wielding expensive swords. Mercenaries.

It was a common line of work for the descendants of the ancient realm of Arkhosia, that which had been the ruin of the tiefling kingdom Bael Turath. Their dedication to honor and warfare led them down either this road or that of the soldier or adventurer. Before he had found magic Quarrel-Karn had trained alongside dragonborn. And with an actual dragon in the middle of the tower glaring at the intruders...this was gonna be a good fight.

"Glory for the living!" Quarrel-Karn called in his best Draconic.

"Honor for the dead!" one of the dragonborn replied, and they charged each other.

At the last minute Quarrel-Karn swooped under the dragonborn's huge blade and slashed at his calves. The dragonborn-crap, it was a woman-howled in pain and brought her sword down upon him, but being a swordmage had certain advantages. A thin layer of magic covered Quarrel-Karn during times of battle, and it kicked in just in time to deflect the blow.

He cut through her chainmail and scales and kidneys and kicked her off of him as Arannis and Jelenneth faced another dragonborn, Naivara killed a second, arrows brought down the fourth, and Mindartis, Rain, and Shakairra stood toe-to-toe with the dragon.

Quarrel-Karn raised his hand and sent his Mark of the Aegis on the dragon. Despite the name, it did not protect the dragon. Quite the opposite. As the dragon brought a claw down upon Rain, Quarrel-Karn jumped through a short dimensional portal, teleporting right behind the dragon and slashing as the back of its knees. The dragon roared and kicked Quarrel-Karn into the wall. The stone came up hard to greet him, popping the air out of his lungs and throwing him to the ground. His ears were screaming. The ground trembled with mighty footsteps. Something big was getting really close...

He didn't realize what was happening until Shakairra's shrill voice snapped him back to reality: "Move your ass, Sparky!"

Quarrel-Karn looked up and somersaulted out of the way of the dragon's jagged teeth. He could feel its hot breath on his heels as he jumped to his feet and brought his blade across the dragon's forearm, hoping to hack it off. The thick bone halted the blade and sent tremors up Quarrel-Karn's arm as the air shimmered, and suddenly there were two Quarrel-Karns.

It was a spell he'd found in the wizard Keira's chamber, back in Llorkh, when he'd pocketed one of the spellbooks on the walls in hopes of finding something useful. The illusion was much more than that. While the "real" Quarrel-Karn's sword was lodged in the dragon's arm, the illusion conjured out of blood and arcana still carried a blade. His mind was split, in two places at once. He was the copy, stabbing the dragon in the other arm, and he was the original, abandoning his sword and jumping over the rubble to escape the corner. He was going to have a headache after this.

The redheaded eladrin Arannis was dead, his head several feet from his body. Naivara was wounded with an axe in her leg and Gundar was kneeling next to her saying his healing prayers while Jelenneth stood between them and the surviving dragonborn. Quarion and Leshanna were raining arrows upon the dragon, making it look like a porcupine as Dayereth shot missile after magic missile that streamed brilliant colors behind them like banners. Elkvein was doing the same with her lightning, which seemed to have a bit more of an effect as the dragon reeled a little at each blow. Mindartis stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Shakairra and Rain, but once he made eye contact with Quarrel-Karn he turned and flanked the dragonborn with Jelenneth.

The copy took a hint from Mindartis and moved into a flanking position with the women. Rain didn't seem to notice that there were two Quarrel-Karns, but Shakairra did. "Sparks, what the hell?!"

"It's fine, it's all good!" he promised, raising his hand and summoning his sword with his mind. It wrenched itself free of the dragon's thick muscle-to its obvious agony and Quarrel-Karn pride-and flew back to Quarrel-Karn's hand. That trick had been the first spell he'd learned with a blade.

Mindartis slashed across the dragonborn's back as Jelenneth impaled him with a spear. She looked up and all the color drained from her face. "Rain's on fire!"

Quarrel-Karn whirled around to see that there were flames springing from Rain's skin, but he knew instantly that these weren't normal flames. Nor were they arcane, like those springing from his head. These had the same feel as the warden's primal magic. They looked almost like scales as they covered Rain head to tail.

_Tail? _Quarrel-Karn spared a closer look as his copy attacked the dragon with a blow of pure magical force, aiming for the belly but impaling the back of the thigh instead. Sure enough, Rain's fires created a serpentine tail extending from her buttocks. Her tongue was forked and fiery and her eyes had flames in the back as she hissed with a vicious smile, "New form: the flame sssnake." She bashed the dragon's arm with her hammer, which was also on fire, leaving a trail of flames on its scales.

The dragon roared and slammed the ground with his front claws, trembling the earth itself as chunks of the tower floor fell away. Rain and Elkvein managed to stay up, but Mindartis was thrown to the ground with Gundar and Jelenneth. The earth crumbled beneath Quarrel-Karn's feet, and he jumped out of the way, only to fall through another hole with Shakairra. They fell on a floor that jingled and shined and was sloped, making them slide down like they were snowboarding. When they stopped, Quarrel-Karn could see through the magic glow of his sword that they had landed atop one of the dragon's hoards, a mountain of coins and artifacts. Another bit of the floor above them crumbled, and Mindartis fell through. Quarrel-Karn caught him before he slid down too far.

"Thank you," the eladrin coughed, getting to his feet. His eyes widened. "My sword! _And_ my bow!"

"You do both?" Shakairra asked as Mindartis threw away the rusted orc sword and picked up the elegant elvish longsword and bow, then found his quiver a second later.

"I've lived through two centuries, Lady Romazi. Plenty of time to master two disciplines, wouldn't you agree?"

"I'm no lady and I'm no warlord."

"Let's argue about titles later."

As the two warlords scrambled up the pile of coins to the light streaming from the holes, Quarrel-Karn closed his eyes and saw through his copy's. The dragon lashed out with his wings, blowing the copy up and away and through a gap in the walls of the second floor of the tower. He froze halfway through the air, gripped by a magical force. Dayereth was holding his hand to him, and the magic guided him back to the lip of the tower. "Thank you," Quarrel-Karn's copy huffed before jumping off the lip, his sword high in the air. Stirred by a sudden sense of enlightened madness he called, "All glory for Corellon!"

"Corellon!" the eladrin cheered as Quarrel-Karn landed on the dragon's back and brought his sword upon its neck.

"And Moradin," Gundar added with a smile as the dragon's head lopped off.

Its purpose fulfilled, the magic holding the copy together disintegrated, and the copy vaporized. Quarrel-Karn climbed up the pile of coins and as he poked his head out of the hole was greeted by a red palm.

He took Shakairra's hand and let her pull him out. "New trick?"

Quarrel-Karn grinned, pulling a book out of his bag. There were two tombs in there: his own spellbook and the one he'd snatched from Llorkh. "Thanks to Keira."

She smiled and turned to the wounded eladrin. "You all right, Naivara?"

"Fine, thank you." Gundar helped her to her feet. "Thanks to your friend and my tattoo."

"Tattoo?"

Naivara lifted a rotted sleeve to reveal an elegant longsword painted on her skin as Jelenneth carefully stepped into one of the holes atop the hoard and started digging through the coins. "Most of us have it. It quickens healing."

"I wondered why the divine energies moved more freely within you," Gundar commented as Rain stood upon the dragon's head.

"Quarrel-Karn, you want its horns?" she called, the fires receding from her skin.

It finally hit him. He had killed a _dragon_!

_No, I didn't_, Quarrel-Karn realized, looking around. _We did_. "The spoils of the party goes to the leader."

Shakairra blinked, clearly taken aback. "It was your kill, Sparky."

"Please. If I'd been alone I would've been torn to pieces. The fact that it was _my_ sword means nothing. We all share in the glory."

"Agreed," Mindartis added as Jelenneth re-emerged with three eladrin longswords, two bows with quivers, and a wand. "Though it was you five you did most of the work."

"A horn for each group?" Rain suggested.

The eladrin each exchanged looks over their reclaimed weapons. Mindartis approached the huge corpse of the dragon, wrapped his fingers around its largest tooth, and yanked it out of its head. "This will suffice for us."

Rain shrugged, turned her hammer around to use the axehead, and swiped both horns.

"Should we signal the brother?" Quarrel-Karn wondered aloud as Rain worked her way down from the body. Now that he'd sated his craving for dragon blood he could face the "good" dragon with a happy heart.

"We don't have the wyrmling yet," Shakairra pointed out, wiping the sweat from her cheeks.

The adrenaline that had been seeping out of Quarrel-Karn came rushing back as a human in rich ceremonial robes poked his head through the doorway of the tower, paled, and darted away screaming, "The lord is dead! We need to kill the little beast!"

Swearing, Shakairra bolted after the human. Quarrel-Karn followed, with Rain, Elkvein, Mindartis, Gundar, and all the others, the archer and wizard following on the walls.

They chased the human to a little tunnel that led beneath the walls to a dirt path, which looped around and came to a cave, lit by torches in the yawning evening. The human was still shouting that they must kill the little beast until Elkvein finally silenced him with a lightning bolt.

In the cave was a mixture of half-orcs and humans. All the half-orcs (seven total) were clearly guards, given their chainmail, boiled leather, and swords. One of them, a particularly large male, was in armor that was too thick to be chainmail, too thin to be plate, and gave the look of rippling scales. There were two humans that appeared to be in clerical or wizard's garb, another dragonborn with a paladin's armor and shield, and a shade.

The shade gave Quarrel-Karn pause. Humans who had traded a sliver of their souls to the Shadowfell-the realm of shadows and death-for dark power were shades. With pale skin and dark hair, shades were outcasts that followed the Trail of Five Darknesses for their blind ambition. This one was armed with a scourge that had hooks at the end of each arm, and it glowed a dark violet hue.

_Great, a rich warlock shade,_ Quarrel-Karn thought, examining the shade's supple leather and silk clothing, as well as her well-groomed hair and dark gray eyes.

Between the intruders and this group of shadowy characters was the wyrmling struggling against the heavy iron chains that bound him to the slab of rock in the center of the cave.

"Swords up front!" Shakairra bellowed, with surprising deepness and volume from those short red lungs of hers. Gundar and Elkvein let themselves be pushed back by the melee fighters as the wyrmling thrashed and growled, his jaws locked shut by chains digging into his flesh. Quarrel-Karn put his Aegis on the most dangerous thing in the room: the shade. Then he crossed swords with one of the half-orcs while Rain and the eladrin charged into the room, running around the rock like water. Shakairra jumped on top of it, jabbing the chains loose with her trident.

In the chaos of the tower with the larger dragon Quarrel-Karn had been unable to appreciate the eladrins' prowess. Now, much closer together, he made a mental note to spar with Mindartis as the eladrin warlord moved like wind. His sword seemed everywhere at once as he slithered around the big half-orc in scale armor. He hadn't been outside, washed, or properly eaten in days, yet the half-orc clearly struggled as they clashed. Quarrel-Karn's own blade sprouted green fire as he poured magic through his sword, slicing through his opponent's neck and engulfing another with fire.

He felt a powerful shock through his fingers as Shakairra raised her shield to block the shade's attack. The shade lashed with her scourge, and a gust of necrotic energy sprayed forth. Quarrel-Karn jumped, teleported, and swung through thin air.

He looked around for the missing shade as chaos swirled around him. Shakairra had gotten one of the wyrmling's wrists free and it was yanking on the chains. Some of the half-orcs saw and pushed against the eladrin to stop the beast from being freed. Jelenneth decapitated a half-orc as one of the humans blasted her full in the chest with divine radiance poured through their mace. Mindartis found a kink in the half-orc leader's scale armor, bringing him down. Rain howled and her hammer slammed into the dragonborn's thick metal shield. Elkvein threw a thunder bomb on the clerics, killing one of them as the other waved his mace to heal the deep slash of a longsword on one of the half-orcs. Dayereth's magic missile found that same half-orc, putting her down permanently, but not before she threw her sword at Leshanna, catching her in the throat. Quarion unleashed his arrows on the dragonborn. Gundar raised his rod and a shimmering portal appeared behind the half-orc Naivara was struggling against, only it wasn't the dwarf woman with the fiery hammer. This one looked human except for the wings as he held a sword in each hand emblazoned with ruins that seemed to shift into each language every heartbeat. One read "Vengeance". The other "Pain". The angel brought both down upon the half-orc.

Sudden agony blinded Quarrel-Karn and forced a scream as the scourge's hooks dug into his skin and mind, black magic burning through his blood as he dropped to a knee. The shade pulled, twisting the hooks. It was her fatal mistake.

"I know where you are," Quarrel-Karn sputtered. She had turned invisible, played some sort of shade or warlock trick with the shadows. But the scourge wasn't that long, and the pull had brought them face-to-face. He gripped his sword and swung, the blade burning cold as he poured icy magic through.

The shade screamed. Blood sprayed against her invisible clothes as the hooks came away, most carrying chunks of obsidian-colored skin.

"My lady!" the surviving cleric cried, and ran towards them with his mace held high.

Quarrel-Karn raised his sword and sent two bursts of lightning through it. One directed at the cleric, the other at the shade.

The cleric was hit in the stomach. He gave a high-pitched wail like a dying cat when he fell. The shade Quarrel-Karn was pretty sure got nicked in the arm. Her response was much worse. He heard the scourge snap and jerked back, too late. Two hooks found their way to his flesh, one right beneath his ribs, the other in the shoulder dangerously close to the neck. Shadows clouded his mind as cold, dark magic raked through him.

Her invisibility spell ran out, and Quarrel-Karn saw her lightly obscured in shadows before him, giving a twisted smile. "I do not fear death, candle. Do you?"

Rage bubbled in his chest, burning the freeze in his mind. "CANDLE?!"

It took a second to realize it wasn't rage burning in his chest; it was the magic fire locked in his body. His rage had turned the key.

Fire burst from his head and the energy lines across his body. His people called the power _firepulse_, a minor explosion after being hit. But this was much bigger. Quarrel-Karn felt himself raging out of control as the shade screamed. So did a man behind him. When he turned he saw it was a half-orc guard come to finish him off, his blade melting to his hand. The air shimmered around him as the fire grew. The shade stopped screaming, her skin turning to ash. Far away he could hear people shouting, but the fires were so loud...

_Pull it back_, he realized. _You're gonna roast everyone in this cave. Pull back, now!_

Jett had taught him to tame his fires by clenching his fists, squeezing the fires like a candle. Yet when Quarrel-Karn did it now, it only grew. Panic squeezed his lungs, and still the fire grew.

"...ark..."

"Get away!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, but he didn't think anyone heard him. "Get away, now!"

"S..ark..."

He was getting dizzy. He had been on one knee, now he was on both, and the fire licking at his skin was beginning to hurt. It was so hot the firesoul genasi was going to burn alive, if he didn't suffocate from his lack of oxygen.

_A death by fire_, he mused. _Irony abounds. _

"Sparky!"

Quarrel-Karn looked up to find a pair of golden eyes. "...get away..." His voice was hoarse. He looked back at the ground.

Shakairra grabbed his chin and pulled his face back up. "Sparky, listen to me. You're going to close your eyes and take a deep breath, and when you do, you're going to breathe in the fire. When you breathe out, you will breathe out the smoke. You're going to repeat this until there's nothing left."

"...won't work..."

"Yes, it will." She gave a small smile. "Trust me."

He tried to smile. "...tiefling's promise..."

"A tiefling's promise isn't worth shit, but right now that's all you got. Now close your eyes and breathe."

Her armor was smoking, and the hand that wasn't holding his chin was clenched into a fist. Tieflings had fire in their blood from the infernal pacts of their ancestors, yet Shakairra was burning, too.

Quarrel-Karn closed his eyes to darkness and breathed in, sending imaginary tendrils to the farthest reaches of the fires and pulling them in through his nose. He exhaled through his mouth, and tasted crumbling ash on his tongue.

"Good, that's good! Do it again!"

Breathe in, breathe out, taste the ash. It was getting cooler.

"One more time, Sparky. You're doing great."

Breathe in, breathe out...

Quarrel-Karn started coughing wildly, spitting soot and ash on Shakairra's knees. When he opened his eyes, the cave was warm, but the only fires were that of his head and the torches.

Shakairra brushed the soot off her knees and smiled. "Are you sure you want to tackle another manifestation?"

Quarrel-Karn wiped his mouth, the sweaty handle of his sword slipping from his fingers with a _clang_. "...m sorry. So sorry..."

Shakairra caught him before he collapsed and hauled him to the wall. "Sorry? What in the Nine Hells are you apologizing for?" She moved his head to see the wounds left by the shade's hooks as he leaned against the harsh, jagged rock. "You saved Mindartis's ass. That dragonborn roasted in his armor just before he could lop off that pretty eladrin's head. Here." She shoved a skin of water in his hands.

Quarrel-Karn gulped it down eagerly, feeling his throat reclaim his voice. "I almost killed you. All of you."

"Well, yes. Elkvein's almost killed us with her lightning and thunder. I swear, sometimes those bolts get so close my ears buzz." She turned over her shoulder. "All clear! Gundar, Rain, one of you get your ass in here!"

His wounds burned, and his body felt like it was made of logs as he drank the last of the water. "The wyrmling?"

"He panicked when you went crazy. Rain had to tackle him and tie him up like a deer. Elkvein's sending for his father." She frowned and looked back. "Hey! Is _anyone_ listening?"

"I will arrive shortly!" Gundar promised.

Quarrel-Karn chuckled, eyelids growing heavy. "Sure you're not a warlord?"

"Damn sure," Shakairra replied as the lights grew dim. "A warlord would've kicked your ass for that little stunt."


	24. the Miracle

Rain was the one who came to patch up Quarrel-Karn's wounds after he passed out. She looked at Shakairra as the gashes and bloody craters glowed green. "Are you all right?"

"Fine. Just a little singed," Shakairra coughed. Feeling the heat of Quarrel-Karn's flames to the point where her skin hurt had scared the tiefling half to death. It had taken everything not to show fear. "The wyrmling?"

"Bound and guarded by Elkvein, Gundar, and Mindartis. The other eladrin are digging graves."

Shakairra pulled herself to her feet and slapped her forehead. "Ah, shit!"

"What?!"

"The horses!"

"Oh." Rain chuckled. "I thought you were hurt."

"No, just an idiot. I knew we should've brought them with us!"

"They would've been killed, and we would've been stranded. You going now?"

Shakairra sighed, flexing her fingers, which still hurt from the heat. _How the hell could such power come from one person? Elkvein's supposed to be the scariest one._ "No, I'll wait until the dragon's taken care of."

She staggered out of the cave, feeling wrung out like a wet cloth both physically and emotionally. Naivara was digging a hole with a thick stick. The wyrmling was curled in the snow with its legs tied together glaring at everyone. Shakairra looked around. "Quarion and Dayereth?"

"They are retrieving Arannis's body," Mindartis answered.

Shakairra had left her trident and shield on a rock outside the cave. She took the shield and knelt next to Naivara to help dig. "I'm sorry for your losses."

"They died for a good cause," she huffed. "They rooted out a small corner of evil in this world before it could evolve into a greater terror. That is what eladrin are meant to do. I'm embarrassed to see how few of us actually realize it."

"Same here."

Naivara paused to give Shakairra a strange look, and the two suddenly burst out laughing. "S-Shakairra," Naivara giggled. "You are a very strange woman."

"Is it the horns?"

"The tail!"

It felt wrong; laughing as they dug three graves. But it was either laugh or cry. That was always an easy choice for Shakairra.

When Leshanna was buried and they were working on Jelenneth's grave, Quarrel-Karn came out of the cave supported by Rain, who also held his sword.

"...really good craftsmanship," the shifter commented, giving it a few test swings. "Where did you get this?"

"Akanul," Quarrel-Karn answered as Rain gently set him down on a thick tree root bare of snow. "Mindartis, when we're both healthier, we should have a duel."

"Agreed." He smiled. "I believe we could learn a little from each other."

"You should learn some manners, first," the wyrmling scolded. "How dare you treat me this way? I command you to untie me at once!"

"Ah, no," Elkvein answered. "You nearly tore out poor Gundar's liver. When your father arrives then we'll unleash you."

"When my father sees me like this he'll kill you!"

"We'd be more scared if we hadn't just killed his brother. Now shut up; you're giving me a headache."

"You cannot touch me!"

"Sure we can." Elkvein smacked him upside the head with her staff.

The wyrmling growled. "Is this how the dark elves treat their elders?"

Elkvein laughed. "Oh, you are _not_ my elder!"

"You lie!"

"Actually, there's a great way to tell," Shakairra interrupted, hacking at the frozen ground with the butt of her shield. "My turn for truth-bound. How old are you?"

"Truth-bound?" the wyrmling snorted. "Children's games."

"You could be almost a century, and you'd still be a child by dragon standards."

The wyrmling composed himself. "Well, since you're such a loyal group of honor, I am sixty-four."

"Eighty-seven," Elkvein answered.

Mindartis blinked. "I would have guessed a hundred, at least."

"Wow. That's very charming."

"Back off, Elkvein," Shakairra groaned the same time Mindartis replied, "It was not an insult."

Elkvein frowned, turning to Shakairra.

"Eladrin have a lot more respect for the older and wiser than they do the younger and stupider," Shakairra explained. "They're like dwarves that way. Sparky? Age?"

"Twenty-seven, as of last week," he called from his root.

"Gundar?" Shakairra caught herself. "Oh, wait, you don't count. Ah, Rain?"

"...twenty...three? Yes, twenty-three winters. What about you?"

_Oh, great. I knew I shouldn't have asked this question._ "I'll be twenty on the fourteenth day of Ches."

Quarrel-Karn paused. "You _will_ be...? You're _nineteen_?!"

"Yes." She frowned when she realized the eladrin were also staring at her. "Oh, don't look so shocked. You can join the Luruar army under almost any age so long as you're decent with a sword and spear."

"When did you join the military?" Gundar inquired.

Shakairra had to think. "Let's see...been training since I was nine, and it took...I was thirteen when they let me in the corps, fourteen when I officially became a soldier and was sent to the Nether Mountains for the first time later that year."

"And when did you begin leading small teams?"

"Seventeen."

"How long have the five of you been together?" Mindartis asked after Quarrel-Karn's swearing in the Primordial tongue, the language of the elementals and genasi.

"We first fought together in Uktar and have stayed together only for the past tenday," Gundar answered as a great shadow fell upon them.

Shakairra stood, brushing the snow and dirt from her numb knees as the dragon landed in front of them, his eyes on the wyrmling. "He tried to escape?"

"And kill us." She climbed out of the hole, took out her knife, and undid the ropes on the wyrmling's legs. "Your brother's body is-"

"I saw." The dragon flicked his eyes over the eladrin. "New friends?"

"Your brother's captives. This is their leader Mindartis. If you would be so kind as to show him and my friend Rain where the rest of the hoard is, I'd be most grateful."

Thankfully, nobody insisted on knowing the dragon's name. That was something the reptilian race always preferred not to share, believing their names had power that could be used against them when put in the wrong hands.

"Me, too," Elkvein jumped in.

_Hm. She seems to get over her hatred over eladrin for treasure quick enough. Good to know._ "Elkvein, too."

"And where will you be?" the dragon demanded.

"We tied our horses about half a mile away and it's growing dark. I need to go fetch them."

"Fair enough."

Shakairra picked up her shield and wiped the dirt off of it as the dragon flew over the wall, forcing the others to run around and through the gate to catch up. Gundar approached her. "I will assist you."

She grabbed her trident. "Naivara, could you keep an eye on Sparky for me?"

"Absolutely," the eladrin replied.

"Sparky, don't go blowing up again."

"No problem," he groaned as Shakairra and Gundar set out.

After a long day, it was nice to just walk, even if the snow was ankle-deep and getting deeper as the sky sprinkled sugar on top of them.

"I have a question, Shakairra," Gundar said at length.

"Don't know if I'll have the answer, but ask anyway."

"You handled Quarrel-Karn's mishap surprisingly well for a woman unlearned in the arcane or elemental arts. How?"

Shakairra bit back a sigh._ I knew he'd ask eventually. It's always Gundar_. "Something similar happened to me when I was a child. A boy...I don't know. There was something wrong with his head. He cut open a pregnant dog's stomach while she was still alive so he could see the babies, and he liked setting birds on fire. When I was seven he decided it would be a good idea to throw stones at me. That was the first time I unleashed hellfire."

"You killed him in self-defense."

"No. I set his arm on fire with my mind and panicked. Some adults saw and rushed to put it out with buckets of water, but every time they put it out it would start up again. I didn't know how to stop until my father came running down the street and showed me deep breathing. I never lost control again, and no one ever threw rocks at me again."

"You must be very grateful for your father."

Shakairra burst out laughing. "Yeah! I'm grateful he died a steaming drunk in an alley before he could beat my mother to death."

Gundar's face remained largely unmoved, but either he was very surprised or Shakairra was getting better at reading him, because she saw his chin jerk back ever so slightly and his eyebrows raised half an inch. "He could not have been all bad."

"No, he taught me not to accidentally burn people alive and gave me this shield, but he didn't approve of anything else in my life. Wanted me to run the family bar when I grew up."

"Instead you joined the military."

Memories of a warm voice and the smell of cinnamon and ale made her smile. "My mother encouraged me to do whatever made me happy. Having a shield on my arm and a spear in hand made me happy."

"Your mother was human?"

"Yes. Dad was the tiefling."

"Unhappy marriage?"

"No marriage at all." She grinned. "What's worse than a tiefling?"

"You would say a bastard tiefling."

"So would most people."

"Most people haven't had their lives saved by a bastard tiefling." Gundar gave a small smile. "Even if she denies what she is."

"And that is?" _I swear to the gods, if he drops that word..._ "And don't say warlord."

"How else would you describe yourself?"

Shakairra shrugged. "Exile? Mercenary?"

"Mercenary?"

"We were hired by Llorkh, then a dragon."

"True."

"Soldier. Wanderer..."

"Miracle."

Shakairra stopped and stared at him, cheeks twisting her mouth to a smile. "What?"

Gundar paused to look back at her, then continued down the path. "Do you recall the conditions under which we met?"

Shakairra hurried to catch up to him. "You were getting your ass kicked by goblins."

"Yes. I knew that I would die again, and that did not concern me. But I prayed to Moradin for a miracle to save the lives of the two hunters who were fighting alongside me. I thought the best I could hope for was the goblins would begin tearing me to pieces, giving the hunters a chance to escape. Instead, you arrived and saved us."

_Why does everything have to come back to the gods with this guy?_ "Sheer dumb luck."

"Luck is just one way the gods operate."

"I was on my way before you said that prayer."

"You jumped over the wall."

"The gate was too slow."

"The fact that you did not break an ankle-"

"Practice makes perfect."

He paused, his brow wrinkling into two little creases. "You...frequently jump off two-story walls?"

"Two-story? Sundabar's walls is three and a half at its _lowest_."

"And your commanding officers let you jump off for fun?"

Shakairra grinned. "They...didn't really know until I got really good at it."

"Did you ever get hurt?"

"Oh, lots of times! But I had a friend who was training to be a cleric and he would wait at the bottom. It only took a tenday to perfect it on the three and a half stories, a month to not get _that_ hurt at five stories." She grinned. "So there's your miracle, Gundar. A crazy bastard tiefling with a half-trained cleric."

"Who happened to be in the right place at the right time. What you call luck I call divine interference."

"That's because you're an invoker. You get your powers from people whole worlds away who demand everything for a shred of favor."

"You doubt their power?"

"Gundar, I'm not an idiot. No one who's seen you fight can doubt the power of the gods. But you're an exception. I've gotten much more success relying on myself than ethereal beings in the clouds."

At that time, they found the horses. They were shivering and snorted when the two approached, but all five were alive. Shakairra brushed the snow from her saddle and mounted.

"They say stubbornness is a face of fear," Gundar commented.

"Who does?"

"Most Fey creatures."

"I can't say I'd agree with that. Dwarves are stubborn."

"All creatures feel fear. The only difference is how they show it."

"Of course we feel fear. There are orcs and slavetraders and gods know what else is out here. Why should I fear gods on top of everything else?"

"They are mysterious, largely unknowable, and outside of the sphere of control of mortals, but I think it goes deeper than that for you." Gundar was silent for a few seconds, tying two of the horses together and mounting the third. "I think the idea of strange beings of another world having ultimate control over your life is...rather terrifying for you."

"No shit!" Shakairra snapped. "But you know what, Gundar? People who have control over your life only have it because you _gave_ it to them. You want to be Moradin's bitch, that's fine. Matter of fact, it's saved our asses, I'd even say I'm grateful. But that's something I just can't do, not for angels or power or anything."

The stony silence that followed almost made Shakairra regret her words, until Gundar said, very softly and firmly, "I am not Moradin's bitch."

"Oh, it's a figure of speech!"

"Ah. All right." That seemed to ease some of the tension. "I apologize if I went too far."

"Eh...me, too." She gave a sheepish smile.

When they got back, Quarrel-Karn was feeling much better. Shakairra knew because Elkvein was lying belly-down on the slab of rock where the wyrmling had been restrained, her back exposed as she grit her teeth at the dark, spidery symbol of Lolth simmering and smoking on her back as the magic was pulled out by Quarrel-Karn, who was chanting strange, mystic words from his ritual book. Shakairra decided not to interfere as the eladrin and Rain huddled around a fire outside the cave.

"Dragon's gone?" Shakairra guessed, dismounting.

"He left us eight hundred platinum pieces," Mindartis confirmed.

One platinum piece was worth a hundred gold. "All right, so divided nine ways..."

"For each of us."

She dropped her jaw. "Well, shit!"

"Not including weapons and armor and magic items," Dayereth added. "Gundar, do you have a ritual book?"

"No, I do not," the deva confided.

Dayereth pulled a thick leather book from his robes and handed it to Gundar. "Now you do."

Shakairra peaked over Gundar's elbow (she was too short to look over his shoulder, even on her toes) and saw him flip through long pages of elaborate handwriting. Most of the book was blank, but there were about a dozen rituals, including...

"Raise dead?" Shakairra gasped. "What do you need for-"

"There's nothing here," Mindartis lamented. "We looked."

"Oh." _Damn. It would've been nice to send all of the eladrin home._ "Sorry."

"It's all right, Shakairra."

Shakairra crouched in the snow next to the fire. "We'll rest here for tonight. In the morning we'll take you to Evereska."

"I would hate to draw your attention from your quest."

"This is the quest. What use is rescuing slaves if they die on the way home?"

"True." Mindartis was silent for a while. "It occurs to me that if you are to continue this mission of yours you won't be able to find the homes of everyone you save, not on your own."

"What are you saying?"

"There is a ritual in there for long-ranged telepathy." He pointed to Gundar's gift. "If you can connect with me every time you rescue a slave, I will lead a team to your location and take the victims to Evereska, where they will find the resources to carry them home, leaving you free to carry on."

"When we return home, I can find a spell that will make travel much faster than horseback," Dayereth agreed.

"Such as phantom steed?" Gundar suggested, showing them the page in his book. "I have the components."

Shakairra squinted at the writing. "You have black salt and magic blood?"

"There is a dragon's corpse in the castle, Shakairra. Harvesting it will account for many of the components required in these rituals." He closed the book and stood. "And black salt makes roast squirrel taste splendid, so yes, I have it."


	25. the Coward

"I don't like this," Rain declared as they tied their horses to a tree. "That house reeks of foulness."

"Then we're in the right place!" Quarrel-Karn cheered.

Gundar felt the previously somber mood that had dampened his spirits the last few days lift at Quarrel-Karn's optimism. At the last minute they and the eladrin had decided it was best to conjure the phantom steeds for Mindartis's group only and send them on their way to Evereska so Shakairra's party could continue. The ritual had read that it was supposed to be ghostly horses, but using the dragon's blood had created reptilian, wingless, drake-like things with glistening scales, their talons shimmering into transparency with the breeze.

When they went their separate ways, they went deeper into Netheril. The days became warmer, the snow ceased falling, and they were in a dry savannah, almost a desert. An early summer would've been great, had it not been for the ominous sense of danger lurking everywhere. They all felt it, but the others were mostly cheery, being on an exciting adventure after claiming the honorary title "dragonslayers". Gundar, on the other hand, had a sense of deep dread buried within his soul that emerged a little more every minute he was here. He knew, then, that he had been here before, lifetimes ago, and the experience had not been pleasant.

Now they were here, the next destination on the path, according to the map. It became clear, when they first saw the lonely house nestled beneath the shade of the hills with a waterfall, that the symbols on the map were mostly literal, rather than figurative (which meant the skull made them pause and the circle of dots made them ponder).

Gundar studied the house from afar, feeling his wool robe stick to the sweat of his body, and prayed, _Moradin, may our justice be swift and lethal. May your mighty hand protect us from harm and lead us to victory. _He had offered two legs of his roast lizard to Moradin last night for extra protection for today, too, lamenting at the fact that he could not ceremoniously offer the brilliant jewels and legendary crafted weapons and armor Moradin so loved to have dedicated to him. Gundar could only hope his actions and the lizard legs would be sacrifice enough.

Shakairra would call it foolish to pray to "giant men in the clouds", but she did not have distant memories of serving great beings. Sometimes, Gundar dreamed about it, but every time he tried to focus on his deity's face it blurred. Even so, there were always feelings of deep contentment, pride, and energy that accompanied such memories. He tired to draw on them now as they walked down the hill to the house.

It seemed more like an oversized hunting cabin, built of wood and clay in the middle of nowhere, though the large porch gave it a touch of comfort. On that porch, in the shade of the waterfall, was an old man, rocking back and forth in a rocking chair spitting tobacco.

"This isn't what I expected," Shakairra admitted. Her trident was on her back, not in hand like her shield. The same was true of Quarrel-Karn's weapon, but not Rain's, who stiffened as they approached.

Gundar also felt a slight unease as the old man turned to them. He frowned at Shakairra and Elkvein, but said courteously enough, "'Morning, strangers. How can I help you?"

Shakairra was either very good at feigning calm or completely oblivious to her comrades' unease. "Have you had a lot of merchants come through this road?"

"I get travelers every now and again. Lots of times they're selling things."

"What things? What's their merchandise?"

The old man shrugged. "Meat. Spices. Weapons. Silk. One time I saw an animal trader."

"What about people?"

"What, slaves?"

"Yes, slaves."

The old man thought for a moment. "Can't say I ever see any slave-traders."

_Either he's blind or lying_, Gundar thought as Quarrel-Karn frowned. "Do you have any magic here?"

"Magic?"

"Yes, magic."

"Can't say I do."

"Because there is a _lot_ of it coming from you."

Gundar frowned. He hadn't felt it at first, but now that Quarrel-Karn had pointed it out, were was a slight tinge in his fingers, and the old man seemed to radiate...something.

The old man sighed. "Boys!"

Out of the house and charging through the garden came at least a dozen humans, armed with castle-forged swords and strong chainmail. These would be no mere goblins nor thugs in the sewers. The way they moved and positioned themselves were an awful lot like Shakairra.

The dark knot in Gundar's stomach twisted as he readied another prayer, yet Shakairra was smooth as still water as she drew her trident. "Lay down your arms and no one dies."

The old man gave a crooked smile as he stood. His face swirled like the eye of a tornado. Skin turned ashen grey, limbs elongated, eyes became yellow and narrow, and all the hair shrank from his body until...

"Doppelganger!" Quarrel-Karn hissed. Shapeshifting, mind-reading abominations that fathered the more human-like (and slightly more amiable) changelings. More often than not they ended as thieves or assassins.

Shakairra did not falter. Nay, she smiled. "Put 'em down. Now."

The doppelganger unsheathed a sword. Even his clothing had changed, going from rough cloth to leather and chainmail. "I have an idea." His voice held none of the gentle roughness of age, yet it seemed almost a snarl. "You and the drow join us, the rest die." He looked directly at Gundar when he said it, hatred burning in those yellow eyes.

_This is no friend of mine,_ Gundar thought. _And no friend of Moradin's_. It sparked anger within him, but it wasn't enough. It was overwhelmed by something he hadn't felt in years. Fear.

_I've faced this kind of foe before_, he realized. _And the losses...we need to retreat, now._

"You are outnumbered," the doppelganger reminded them when Shakairra made no move to retreat.

"You're outmatched." She looked over her shoulder. "Elkvein."

She had already conjured her ball of thunder. She threw it into the thickest group of humans, the ones in a two-by-four formation, ripping them to pieces with storm and sound.

The echo of thunder, and Shakairra's shrill, hair-raising, blood-pounding cry of, "Charge!" snapped Gundar out of his frozen fear. Divine magic swirled within him, and he hurled a raw bolt of it at the doppelganger. It slammed the creature full in the chest and brought half the house down upon him, as well.

Both Quarrel-Karn and Rain were swirls of fire as the warden slipped into her form of the flame snake and they both jumped into battle alongside Shakairra, who impaled a man with her trident and slammed another with her spiked shield. Elkvein's lightning created a jagged line over the allies' heads to fry a swordsman coming behind Quarrel-Karn, who had somehow gotten turned around, probably from all the teleporting. With his rod humming Gundar threw a crystalline orb packed with as much divine energy as he could muster. The explosion was a little more than he'd asked for.

"Whoa-shit!" Quarrel-Karn shouted, blades sticking out of his arm. "Watch it, Gundar!"

"Apologies!" he called, feeling the heat rush to his face. The good news was the blades had ravaged the humans, and once Rain bashed her hammer into the chest of the last one there were none left.

"Well, that was easy," Elkvein commented.

"We should search the house," Shakairra declared as Gundar heard one of the pieces of the roof slide over.

Rain's eyes widened. "Gundar, look out!"

An arm surprisingly strong for its gangly-ness wrapped around Gundar's neck as cold steel bit through his back. Blood exploded from his mouth, pain spreading from his spine like ripples. Magic thrummed through the sword, turning it even colder as well as dark with the touch of deathly necrotic magic, and Gundar knew then that the doppelganger was either swordmage or-more likely-a warlock, one that the other four could probably beat, but at great cost.

The thought of it sparked that earlier seed of anger. Whether it was Gundar's or Moradin's, who placed great value on friendship and protection thereof, he didn't know. Either way, he let his rod slip from his numb fingers, grabbed the doppelganger's arms with both hands, and channeled Moradin's power through himself without the aid of magical implements. He encased himself in a layer of energy like a second skin before exploding, much like Quarrel-Karn had done, except with more control and with radiant light that burned through skin and flesh, both the doppelganger's and Gundar's.

The shapechanger screamed and dropped the deva, who landed on the harsh scrubland with a thud. His palms were charred and smoking and screaming at him, but not as much as the sword still impaled through his back and poking out his stomach. Gundar himself had not made a sound, bearing his physical agony in silence. His soul felt light and pure, cleansed of its fear and shame, at peace. So there was no reason to scream.

Rain howled in rage and jumped over Gundar to charge the doppelganger. After that everything went blurry, and it was all Gundar could do to concentrate on his prayers. _This is a good way to die. Soulforger, please forge me a new body in my sacred place. A strong one more capable of channeling your divine power. There is still so much left to do here; I'm not ready to join you yet..._

"Gundar!"

_smack!_

Gundar blinked at the new pain, quickly dulling on his cheek. _Did Shakairra just slap me?_

The tiefling, ordinarily flushed and crimson from heritage and battle, was unnaturally pale. Gundar frowned, thinking she had taken a grievous wound and was losing blood. "Are you..." It was hard to talk. He swallowed blood and tried again. "Are you all right?"

"No, I'm not all right!" she shrieked. "My friend has a sword through his gullet and we can't heal him unless we pull it out, and that's gonna hurt like hell!"

"The...doppel...doppelganger..."

"Is dead. Rain bashed his brains in, but she couldn't do much for you outside of your palms."

Gundar looked at his hands and saw, outside of the sprinkles of blood they'd caught, they were blue and clean, not black and burned.

Quarrel-Karn was suddenly kneeling above him. "If we want to do this, we have to do it now."

"I'll keep watch," Elkvein offered, somewhere behind. Gundar thought it strange that no nervousness or unease came over him with the drow out of sight. "There could be more of those assholes around."

"Rain, help me hold him down," Shakairra ordered. Firm hands gripped his torso and upper legs while Shakairra grabbed hold of his shoulder in one hand, his palm in the other. Her eyes never left his. "Sparky, when you're ready."

For the first time in his life, Gundar found himself drawing strength from a source other than his god. He clenched Shakairra's hand and made only one other prayer: _I will not scream. _

That vow was broken. The sword was a lot more painful going out than coming in, even though Quarrel-Karn managed to pull it out in one smooth motion. He was pretty sure he passed out, because the next thing he knew he was propped up against the house with a water canteen in his hands and a bandage around his chest. He frowned, poking at it.

"The blade was enchanted," Rain explained, coming around the corner. "I could only do so much."

"I believe I have it from here." He smiled. "Thank you, Rain."

After a few minutes of deep prayer-mostly in thanks-Gundar stripped off the bandages to find a bulging scar where blood had once been. _Well, this will be a fine tale to tell Kilrak and the others, and now I have proof._ He slipped back into his robe despite the heat and moved to enter the house. He paused at a glimmer of metal in the sun. He picked it up and went inside.

It was much nicer than the exterior led one to believe, even with one of the walls destroyed. Shakairra was sitting at the desk rummaging through papers. She looked up when he entered. "Are you all right? Rain said she couldn't heal it all the way and-"

"I'm fine, Shakairra. Where are Elkvein and Quarrel-Karn?"

"Down here!"

Gundar jumped a little at the voice leaking through the floorboards. He squinted through the cracks, pretty sure he saw a flicker of flame beneath. "Quarrel-Karn?"

Elkvein was the one who answered: "Sparks found a cellar door. Thought we'd take a look."

"So far only jars of moldy food," Quarrel-Karn groaned. "We'll keep looking."

"I found the doppelganger's sword," Gundar replied. "It is enchanted. Would you like it, Quarrel-Karn?"

"No, thank you. Mine's better."

"I'll take it," Shakairra offered, slipping the blade from his hands. "Three weapons are better than two."

He looked at the desk. "And what is here?"

Shakairra sighed. "Well, I was hoping for itineraries or a schedule of some sort. If we could ambush someone that'd be great, but everything must've been off-the-books with coin instead of checks, which is smart but for us means there's nothing to give a hint as to any patterns or plans.

"However, I did find a few coded letters and managed to crack it. It seems this route has a sort of lord or commander named Regdar. He's the one supplying all the guards and keeping this road clear for slave-traders. Most of the letters are demands for money, so everything obviously comes for a price, probably a percentage of all profits."

"Do you know where this Regdar is?" Gundar asked. That was a human name.

"One of the letters mentioned a Fort Whiplash." Shakairra snorted with an amused smile. "Original, huh? My guess is this fort is here." She pulled out the faded map and pointed to the flag symbol, the closest to Oreme. She gently folded it and put it back in her pocket. "I could keep looking and try to find how many men there are at the fort and the other checkpoints, but Regdar's been careful and the doppelganger obviously never trusted anything to paperwork."

"Hey, we found something!" Quarrel-Karn called. "Lots of locks and chains! Someone get Rain!"

"Gundar, you may want to start that sending ritual," Elkvein warned as she jiggled the lock open.


	26. the Jeweler

Considering the fact that they often made plans that would span centuries-and therefore a day or two made no matter to them-the eladrin were very punctual. They arrived on some of the largest and best stallions Rain had ever seen, having spent the last half-tenday recovering to arrive clean and with full bellies.

Shakairra's group and the freedmen had turned the gutted house into a camp with three walls. The roof was still intact enough to keep the thirteen freedmen dry from the pummeling rain that had started in the evening and continued the two days it took Mindartis to arrive. There were no eladrin among the freedmen, so Elkvein wasn't quite as sour. She even began to warm up to a couple halflings who approached her after hunting rabbits and deer with Rain for hints on the art of stealth. The elves weren't so willing to befriend the drow, and were a bit chilly to Shakairra. They tended to gravitate towards Gundar and Rain, which was fine by her. It was good to speak so much Elven again, even if these elves tended towards the cities and towns of the Gray Vale. That and the fact that Gundar offered one of the legs of a caught rabbit to Moradin as sacrifice were the only things that alienated the two of them from the elves, but they were minor differences in the big scheme of things.

The rain was still coming down hard, so the six hooded riders emerged from the fog like primal spirits. Rain was the one on watch, perched on a pile of rubble just within the roof's shade, finishing a very special project.

She reached for her hammer until she saw the emerald orbs smiling at her beneath the head hood and relaxed. "Shakairra! Mindartis is here!"

They were boiling rabbit stew in the fireplace. Shakairra got up to greet the eladrin as Quarrel-Karn waved his hand with a flare and the fire took form of fluttering birds, greeted by the awed applause of the halflings and elves. She smiled when Mindartis dismounted and shook the water from his hood. "You work fast, Romazi."

"Hope we weren't interrupting."

"Not at all." He nodded to the shifter. "Rain."

Rain tackled him with a hug. "Mindartis, good to see you!"

Mindartis's eyes popped as he slowly returned the hug and the other eladrin snickered. "I...didn't realize how much I was missed."

Rain almost blushed. "Oh, sorry. Sometimes I forget not everyone likes hugs. That's how everyone greeted each other in the village."

"Don't hug eladrin, Rain," one of the halflings chuckled, a resourceful hunter named Corrin. He'd been a ranger on the edge of Zelbross when the slave traders had snatched him on the way out the door. Everyone had thought a bear had gotten him or something. "In fact, a lot of big people don't like that."

"They do in Elfharrow!" Rain argued, ushering the eladrin into the warmth of the house. "Are the others here, Mindartis?"

"Dayereth was unable to come," Mindartis lamented. "As was Quarion."

"We can bring a message back, if you wish," the silver-haired Naivara replied, though she was less than a century old.

"Well, I know your culture places more value on magic than nature, but I found myself with some extra materials and wanted to give you these." From a leather bag Rain pulled out four of nine necklaces she'd been making out of dragon teeth and pearls, unburied from one of the dragon's pocketed hoards. The teeth were yellow, the pearls between each tooth black and winking in the evening sun.

Mindartis gently took one and smiled. "Not an elf custom, I see."

"Do I look like an elf to you?"

"Only about as much as I look human," Shakairra chortled. "We have over a dozen freedmen. How do you plan to proceed?"

"In comfort, with no rush." Mindartis put his head through the necklace; it rested on his emerald armor as if it'd always been there. "We will wait for the rain to stop, which should not be too long. Then we will proceed with caution."

"Then the five of us will leave tomorrow morning. By my calculations the next stop is a two-day ride. Meanwhile, have a seat. Warm yourselves. We've got rabbit stew cooking."

"We also have a present for you," Naivara ventured. "We brought a tattoo artist."

Another eladrin stepped forward. He was the oldest of the group; he even had the beginnings of wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. "Mindartis and his team have enchanted markings. I can do the same for you."

Shakairra and Rain exchanged a rather bewildered look. To Rain, markings in the tribes were temporary war paint used to camouflage the warriors as they hid in the trees and underbrush. Permanent, _magic_ markings were a new concept.

"What benefits would it bring?" Shakairra asked.

"I can give you any number of small boons such as increased healing upon injury, speed, endurance against the elements..."

"Let me run it by the others."

"Magic tattoos?" Elkvein echoed, frowning. "I don't like it. They're putting us in their debt."

"Or they're trying to show their gratitude for helping them," Quarrel-Karn pointed out.

"I rather like the idea," Gundar ventured. "A little magic to aid us all would help, and it would help provide an identity for us."

Elkvein crossed her arms. "We already have an identity. We're the drow, genasi, deva, and shifter led by a tiefling."

"A name would help," Rain argued. "All the great packs and tribes have names. Something short and sweet."

"With snakes!" Quarrel-Karn added. "Gotta have snakes."

Shakairra frowned. "Why snakes?"

"Snakes are amazing."

Elkvein sighed. "And wings. It has to have wings."

Rain paused, stood, and went to the corner where she'd stashed her things. She pulled out her shield. "Will this work?"

A slow smile crept across Shakairra's pointed teeth. "The Flying Cobras. I rather like that."

Elkvein shrugged. "It's all right. But I want speed and discrepancy."

"Discrepancy? For us?" Shakairra laughed. Quarrel-Karn's chuckles turned to guffaws, followed by Rain and Gundar, even Elkvein.

The eladrin painted their skin. It didn't matter what size it was or the location on the body. Shakairra had it on her ankle, Elkvein the back of her neck to be hidden by her waterfall of silvery-white hair, Quarrel-Karn put it on his back, Gundar his pale blue chest, and Rain put hers around her left shoulder, a great hissing cobra with bat-like wings. Rain felt herself swell with pride as the eladrin put crushed herbs on the burning, tender skin, feeling like ice kissing the fires in her blood. Arcana pulsed in her blood, mingling with the primal ecstasy never more than a heartbeat away. With matching markings and trophy necklaces, they looked like a true pack.


	27. the Baptized Warrior

"Ohhhhh, they're _stones_!" Elkvein exclaimed as they tied their horses to the only tree for miles.

Shakairra looked around and didn't like what she saw. They had crossed the foggy line between savannah and desert yesterday, and there was nothing but flat, smoldering rocks and sand on the ground for miles, with only a couple lone hills and plateaus, like the one directly behind them that the path had led them around to get to this place. The area looked almost ceremonial with boulders arranged in a circle around one that might've been a cave in the center. Shakairra didn't see anyone or any abnormal shadows in the beating sun, but she was certain anyone who was out there could easily see them.

The dark sword at her hip hummed as she pulled out her trident. "Slow and steady, people. No need to be brash."

"You're telling me. The air's thick with magic," Quarrel-Karn reported, unsheathing his sword. "Blaze is practically screaming at me."

"I don't like just walking in there," Elkvein declared.

"Well, what else are we gonna do?" Shakairra demanded.

An orb of thunder appeared above Elkvein's palm, and before anyone could shout, "No!" she threw it to the center of the stones with a deafening _boom_!

There was a scream, and blood splattered from nowhere onto the rocks. The force of the drow's magic upset the invisibility spell in place, and the five of them found themselves facing a wall of swordsmen, archers, and a mage.

"Shit," Shakairra breathed.

"Fire!" the mage screamed.

The archers loosed their arrows. Darkness overcame the five of them and Shakairra found herself yanked to the ground, shafts whistling past her horns as Rain gave a startled growl and Gundar grunted.

Shakairra rolled out of Elkvein's cloud of darkness and stood. "Sparky?"

"Here!"

She couldn't tell if anyone else was hurt, and there was no time to ask. If there were serious injuries the archers had to be distracted so the rest of the group could get out. She hoped there weren't any serious injuries and that the rest of the group could come and save them. "Charge!"

The fact that Quarrel-Karn unquestionably rushed right alongside her with this sword and a fiery head full of fury filled Shakairra with pride as she jabbed her trident between the ribs of a swordsman and Quarrel-Karn crossed blades. He decapitated his opponent and green flames sprouted from the bloody stump of the neck, engulfing the nearest enemies. Everyone here was a human except the wizard.

_Why does every tiefling I meet turn out to be either evil or a real bitch? _Shakairra wondered. The tiefling wizard looked a little like the only other tiefling of the Sundabar army Shakairra had encountered: pale pink skin, straight upward horns instead of curled, thin tail, slender, sparse dark clothing, female. That made it easier. Shakairra had never gotten along with the Sundabar archer Viktoria; had, in fact, always wanted to fillet her with a rusty butter knife.

Shakairra didn't want any more spells from this pale bitch. As the archers reloaded behind their sword-wielding buddies, Shakairra turned her trident in her hand and threw it at the wizard.

_Nailed her right in the cunt_, she thought, smiling as the wizard fell as she held her shield against the rain of arrows. Most were blocked. One found its way beneath her armor to her side, right next to her liver.

Screaming a swear at the blossoming flower of blood and pain, Shakairra's vision became filled with fire from the depths of the Nine Hells, and when the moment passed the guilty archer was a charred corpse and she had drawn the dark sword. She'd known it was magic, but on the field it was a living thing in her hand. She knew this elated feeling, when her mind was one great white slate and her body did all the work for her, as if she was no longer in charge of every golden breath she gained and every warrior she fell. The sword enhanced it. Shakairra didn't even feel the pain of her wound and seemed faster, stronger, like a prized stallion. And it wasn't just the sword. Shakairra's ankle where the snake tattoo was burned, but it was a good burn, and it spread throughout her entire body until her blood was on fire and she moved even faster, and she could tell it had the same effect on Quarrel-Karn beside her. He was a blur of flame and metal. The closer they got to each other, the faster they were.

Brilliant crystal shards flew over her head and exploded on the back line of archers, most of them still reloading. _Good. Gundar's still alive_.

Rain came howling up behind her in her flame serpent form, blowing past the front row of swordsmen and careening into the surviving archers until she was completely surrounded. She slammed her hammer into the ground so the earth churned, turning the men and women caught in its grasp into butter.

Lightning seared one of the warriors trying to come up behind Quarrel-Karn to flank him. Shakairra's sword kept swinging.

Then the tiefling wizard got up, the trident sticking out of her just under the stomach like a black tongue. With fires behind her eyes she pointed her wand at Shakairra a screamed something that sounded suspiciously like a curse. An invisible, malicious force snatched Shakairra from the ground as if she were an infant and slammed her into one of the boulders. Then it picked her up again and threw her across the battlefield into another. The third time Shakairra's vision was beginning to blacken and the pain from the arrow was back.

The force threw her to the ground, the hot sands stinging even her hell-kissed skin. Shakairra rolled onto her back, head swimming, body made of lead, sword missing, her wooden shield completely shattered so all that was on her arm were splinters.

Then the boulder tipped and fell.

All the breath and half the life out of Shakairra burst from her mouth with a swear. "Oh, you _bitch_!"

Everything from her breasts down was squished, as was her left arm. But either the boulder was lighter than it looked or the sands had given way just enough to keep Shakairra alive. It was only a buffer, though. She was pretty sure a rib or two was in her lungs as it was getting harder and harder to breathe.

Shakairra wiggled her free hand beneath the boulder and feebly tried to push it off. Even moving her arm was enough to exhaust her. She laid back on the sands and craned her neck to see the battlefield. Where there had been over a dozen swordsmen there were now four, two on Quarrel-Karn and two on Rain as well as three archers down to using their bows as clubs against the raging she-wolf. Gundar had blood running down his robe from an arrow wound on his shoulder, but didn't seem hindered as he opened a portal to let in his blade-wielding angel behind the archers to help Rain. Elkvein...where was Elkvein?

_Ugh. If that elven bitch ditched us just because I fell under a boulder I'm going to be so pissed_! Shakairra thought as the wizard laboriously pulled the trident out of her uterus area and limped over to Shakairra. "Still alive?"

"It's a...desert. Sands..." Shakairra panted. Breathing was bordering impossible, the options narrowing. If this wizard was still alive that could spell death for the rest of the group. _All right Tempus, you ass. I don't like you and I doubt you like me, but I've followed the laws of battle my whole life and played by your rules, albeit accidentally. So if you care enough to lend a hand here you'll help my friends win and maybe save my life, while you're at it. If I survive this, you get yourself a new follower._

The wizard put her wand in her mouth like a pirate would a knife, gripped the trident in both hands, raised it above her head...and fell over as a clap of thunder split her in half. Blood fell on Shakairra's face like a crimson flood, filling her vision with red until Elkvein's worried face loomed over her. Shakairra couldn't recall ever seeing the drow so scared. "Rain, get over here!"

Everything was red and black and pale blue sky and hot sand up her nose until, suddenly, she could breathe easy and the pain flowed out of her body like water down a drain.

Shakairra opened her eyes and found herself propped upright against one of the boulders. It was approaching night. Three fires were lit against the chill. One for the adventurers, one for the raggedy elves and eladrin (a total of about eight), and one for the raggedy humans and halflings (about nine).

Gundar was on one side of her, an elf on the other. The elf had hair that looked and smelled like lavender, even through the dirt and grime. He gave her a grin. "Welcome back to the living, Lady Romazi."

"Mm not a lady," she murmured, rubbing her tired eyes. "What happened?"

"You and your friends saved our lives."

"Got that bit. What about the enemies?"

"There were a score more in the cave beneath the center boulder," Gundar explained. "We heard their orders to kill the captured. I stayed with you after Rain and Elkvein pulled you from the boulder. Your injuries were very grave; I could not heal you alone and Rain was also wounded in the fight. Thank the gods Cyrio is a cleric."

Wide awake, Shakairra sat up straight. "Is Rain all right?"

"Right here!" the shifter called cheerfully from the eladrin-elf fire. "We're telling stories! I was just getting to the dragon of last tenday!"

"Is there nothing that doesn't please that girl?" Shakairra grumbled, brushing the sand off her armor and stealing a glance at Gundar's shoulder. The blood would leave a stain on his robe, but the injury had healed. "Thank you, Cyrio, very much. I owe you my life."

"As I owed you mine earlier let's call it even."

Shakairra returned his smile and shook his hand. "Deal."

"And she is alive!" Elkvein cheered, approaching with three bowls of soup with lizard legs sticking out of them. "The lizard's actually very good. Halflings really know how to cook desert food." She gave Shakairra and Gundar their bowls and sat down across the fire from them. "The eladrin saved you some, elf."

"Ah. Thank you," Cyrio replied with strained courtesy as he got up and left their little camp.

"You could've been a bit nicer," Shakairra scolded, the rich smells of the soup almost overwhelming her roaring stomach.

"I was. You'll notice the lack of insults and lightning bolts."

"Hm." Shakairra turned to Gundar. "Is Mindartis on his way?"

"It will take six days for him to arrive," the deva confirmed, his blue skin almost gray in the firelight. He took one of the lizard legs and tossed it into the flames, muttering something that sounded like "to Moradin".

Shakairra took one of hers and also threw it.

Elkvein frowned from her soup. "Who was that for?"

Shakairra slurped down her meal. "Tempus."


End file.
